Question: I am the Jewish Chaplain in a University in the U.K. Our graduation ceremony is held annually in our nearby city cathedral. The building is over 1000 years old and the experience is awe inspiring. One of my students is strictly orthodox and is concerned that he is not permitted to enter therein. He is also concerned that in entering the cathedral he will be walking through the attached cemetery where some of the graves are marked with a cross. He is not a Cohen so the cemetery prohibition does not apply. I would like to assure him that attendance by him and his parents will be permissible.

In 2005 a delegation of rabbis and cantors were invited to Rome to meet with John Paul II just before he passed away. The delegation was made up of Orthodox, Conservative and Reform rabbis, including several prominent Orthodox rabbis: Rabbis Shlomo Riskin, Joseph Arbib, the Rabbi of the Great Synagogue of Rome, and Rabbi Shmuel Rene Sirot, Past Chief Rabbi of Europe and France. The Rabbis in attendance recited a special prayer for the Pope and the cantorial group chanted the Shecheyanu. All of this took place in the Vatican. Given the ecumenical nature of this group, it would seem that at least for some Orthodox rabbis is permissible to enter a domain dedicated to the non-jewish worship.

The question, of course, is more complicated than an audience with the Pope. Jewish law contains statements such as, "It is a mitzvah to distance oneself four cubits from idolatry," (Shulchan Arukh, Yoreh Deah, 150:1) which some interpret as a reference to any religion that allows the worship of images. If one understands Catholicism as a form idolatry, then one might conclude that it is prohibited to enter a church, either for purposes of worship or for more secular purposes. Rav Moshe Feinstein wrote: "Regarding whether children can play ball in a hall that is connected to a church, it is definitely forbidden, even if there are no images there, for “Distance from it your ways” – this is heresy." (Igeret Moshe Orech Chaim 4:40.26)[1] The question of whether Christianity is a form of idolatry is one that was debated throughout Jewish history. Ironically, Jews who lived among Christians tended to see Christianity as idolatry while Jews who lived in Moslem lands did not.

In addressing the Orthodox student, I would not try to convince him one way or another. Instead, I would ask him if he has addressed this question to his own Rav. If the student in question considers you his rabbi and decisor in matters of Jewish law, then I would make the following arguments to him. Firstly, today most contemporary rabbis do not consider Catholicism a form of idolatry. With our deeper understanding of other faiths, we realize that Catholics or other Christians do not worship the images of God in their holy place but simply use them to inspire a sense of reverence and faith. Secondly, in an age of ecumenicism we cannot expect Christian leaders to be open to dialogue in our domain if we are not willing to do the same for them. By wearing a kipah, you will be making a powerful statement that you are not there to participate in worship but to be a part of your graduation. Finally, since the purpose of entering the building in question is to participate in a purely secular activity and it is not being used for worship at that time, then its religious purpose is irrelevant at that moment. It is simply a venue without any religious significance. If anything, it has been chosen for its historic significance rather than its theological importance.

For the record, even if the said student was a kohen, it would be irrelevant even if he is passing through a non-Jewish cemetery. Kohanim are forbidden to enter a Jewish cemetery or have contact with a Jewish corpse because of impurity. But a non-Jewish cemetery or corpse do not convey impurity to a Jew, as far as I know!

[1] Sources borrowed from an essay Rabbi David Sperling, http://www.yeshiva.co/ask/?id=6517

Question: What is the Jewish view on putting the good of others before what is good for oneself, even when it may conflict with what it good for oneself? (I'm not talking about life and death issues here.)
[Administrator's note: I interpret this question as asking about altruistic behaviors, such as Taharah for a deceased person. Respondents may read it differently - if so, please explain your understanding.]

The question of balancing self-interest with altruism is central in any system of ethics, religious or otherwise. When I think of this question, the first thing that comes to mind is the statement that airline stewards or stewardesses make before the airplane takes off: if the oxygen masks drop down put one on oneself before assisting the person or the child sitting next to you. While this might be a matter of life and death, I believe the sentiment is at the heart of Jewish ethics as well. It is best expressed in the words of Hillel, who taught: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself then what am I? If not now, when?” (Pirkei Avot 1:14) It is no accident that the statement emphasizing self-interest comes first and only then raises the question of responsibility to others. Both are important but one must begin by taking care of one’s self.

Recently, I came across an interesting presentation of this idea in the Torah commentary of Rabbeinu Bachya ben Asher, a fourteenth century kabbalist. In discussing priorities in giving tzedakah to others, he suggests there are six levels of giving. This list by the way is very different from Maimonides levels of giving. The lowest level is giving to gentiles or to people from other town while the highest levels of giving are to one’s children and one’s parents. Before we condemn Rabbeinu Bachya as being parochial and unfriendly to non-Jews, let’s understand what he is saying. Rabbeinu Bachya is saying we have an obligation to help all people, Jews and non-Jews alike, but we have to prioritize who comes first.

The lowest priority is giving to a needy gentile.

Higher than this is one who gives to a fellow Jew from another town.

Higher than this is one who gives to a fellow Jew from his own town,

Still higher than this is one who gives to his needy relative,

Still higher is one who supports his young children.

Even higher than this is one who supports his aging parents.

Rabbeinu Bachya never mentions supporting oneself but I think we can conclude from this list that he would say that our first obligation to care for ourselves. Beyond ourselves we have an obligation to our immediate family, with parents coming first. We then have a responsibility to care for distant relatives and others in our community. Finally, we should help people from other communities and people outside our immediate community if we are able. One might picture this as a series of concentric circles. We are at the center with the others being in the outer circles.

I would say that Hillel’s well-known aphorism does not encourage saintliness and selflessness; it promotes justice, fairness and perspective. My first responsibility is to take care for myself. We are only encouraged to risk our own wellbeing under the most extreme circumstances. The classic formulation of this question is found in the Talmud Baba Metzia 62a.

Two people are travelling along the way, and one of them has in his possession a flask of water. If both drink from it, they will both die. However, if only one of them drinks, he will be able to make it out of the desert. Ben Petura expounded, “It is better that both should drink and die that that one should witness the death of his fellow.” Then Rabbi Akiva came and taught, “‘Your brother shall live with you’ (Lev. 25:36) — your life comes first, before the life of your friend.

The law, of course, almost always follows Rabbi Akiva. Even though it is dealing with an extreme case of life and death, I think the same principle applies to all matters affecting our well-being.

Question: I received a request for forgiveness in the spirit of Yom Kippur. I am not familiar with this process, as it is from someone who is new to the faith. My question is, does the person asking for forgiveness have to specify what the wrongs are? This person did not specify, just asked generally. I feel that I need to know what they felt they did wrong, otherwise how do they know what I'm forgiving them for? Specifically, I do not believe that some of the wrongs are understood. If I offer forgiveness in my heart, I don't see how that can resolve an issue if it's not understood fully.

Your question regarding forgiveness goes to the very heart of the High Holy Days. At some point during the High Holy Days, most rabbis remind their congregants that repentance is not possible if one is not sincere and remorseful, and if one has not asked for forgiveness from the aggrieved party, whether it be God or one’s fellow. The Mishnah (Yoma 10:1) tells us Yom Kippur only affects atonement for sins between a person and God. The Mishnah states: “For transgressions between a person and one’s neighbor Yom Kippur does not affect atonement until one first appeases one’s neighbor.”

The rabbis and commentators of the Middle Ages offered strategies for seeking forgiveness. Moses Maimonides, possibly the greatest Jewish mind of the Middle Ages, devotes an entire section of his great code, the Mishnah Torah, to the subject of repentance: “Repentance and the Day of Atonement atone only for sins which are committed against God… Sins such as injuring, cursing, stealing etcetera, which are committed against one's fellow man are never atoned for until one has paid any necessary fines to the person against whom one sinned, and sought his forgiveness (from the wronged party.) Even though one may have paid back any due money, one still has to appease him and ask for forgiveness. Even if one teased someone else just verbally, one has to appease him and make up for it, in order that he will forgive one.” (Mishnah Torah, Laws of Repentance, 2:9)

The process of seeking forgiveness is the same whether we are seeking forgiveness from God or one’s neighbor. According to Maimonides it must include not only remorse and resolve not to perform the transgression again, but also an explicit confession of one’s deeds. He writes: Of one transgressed any commandment of the Torah… then when one repents, one must confess…this means verbal confession which is a positive commandment…” (Mishnah Torah, Laws of Repentance 1:1) If we must confess our wrong doings before God who is All-knowing, how much more important is it to acknowledge our wrong doings against our fellow human beings?

Why is verbal confession so important? It is easy to cover up our wrong doings with a generic apology or a statement in which we say that we regret ‘our actions they have offended others,’ (this is not an apology). An apology must be based on self-awareness and an acknowledgment of the nature of the wrong doing. If you can’t admit it, then you are not really remorseful.

The most disconcerting part of the High Holy Days for me is that often I can’t remember all the wrongs that I’ve committed over the course of the year, so how can I seek forgiveness from family, friends and congregants whom I may have offended. In many ways Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are too late to seek forgiveness: we need to apologize and ask for forgiveness as soon as we become aware of our misdeed.

A person, then, who apologizes, must have some level of understanding of what they did wrong and how they have offended or hurt us. They must also feel some remorse for their former actions and they must be prepared to make a sincere promise that they will try and not commit that wrong again. They must also offer compensation for the loss or damages that they caused the victim.

That said, Maimonides adds: “It is forbidden for one to be harsh and non-appeasing. One should rather be forgiving and slow to anger, and whenever a sinner asks one for forgiveness one should grant it wholeheartedly. Even if the sinner had distressed one considerably and sinned against one a lot, one should/may not take revenge or bear a grudge, in the manner of a true Jew…” As long as the person who committed the transgression is sincere and remorseful we should be prepared to forgive. Will they ever truly understand the depth of our hurt? Probably not. But as long as their intentions are good we should be willing to forgive. (Mishnah Torah, Laws of Repentance 2:10)

One final caveat: what happens if I can no longer apologize to the offended party? For instance, what happens if the person I insulted or harmed passed away? Joseph Caro, in his great code of law, suggests that one must go to the grave of the offended party and confess one’s transgressions, and then seek their forgiveness. One should be accompanied by a Minyan when doing so. (Rabbi Joseph Caro, Shulchan Orech, Orech Chaim, 606) This is the actual basis of visiting the graves of ones parents and loved ones during the High Holy Day season. Even after the death of our loved ones, we are obligated to acknowledge and articulate our wrong doings to the offended party.

Growing up in the nineteen sixties, my mother and I argued about a question which might seem strange from our vantage point today. I asked her: "Which would you prefer: if I came home with a non-Jewish woman or a Jewish woman of color?" Although I would hardly describe my mother as prejudiced, my mother said that she would prefer a non-Jew rather than a person of color. This led to accusations that she was bigoted. In retrospect, I suspect that her attitude had more to do with the difficulties that a bi-racial couple might face in the world at that time.

As a rabbi, I have participated in the conversion of literally dozens of people of color who have joined the Jewish people and embraced the faith of Israel. From the perspective of Judaism, there is no difference between a person of color and a so-called white person. What matters is the depth of commitment of the person who becomes a Jew by choice.

Shortly after I became a rabbi, I was approached by an African-American woman who expressed an interest in becoming Jewish. At the time I was serving in a congregation in the South, so her desire to become Jewish seemed quite extraordinary. For several months we met weekly as she learned about Jewish living, the bible, prayer, history, and she studied Hebrew. One day she came to me with a question. "Was it true that Moses' wife was a Black woman?" I explained that according to the Torah, Moses was married to a Midianite woman named Tzipporah. Howeve,r there is a passage in the book of Numbers (Nu. 12:1) which refers to his wife as an eesha kushit, an Ethiopian woman. (By the way, the sages took this expression to mean that she was very beautiful; this may be the first reference to the contemporary expression that "Black is beautiful!) My student thought about this for just a moment and then face lit up with a smile. She said: "When I convert that is the name I am going to take: Tzipporah." I am glad to tell you that my student when on to become a committed Jewess and an active member of her congregation, even teaching religious school.

The question of race has never even come up as a subject of concern in Judaism, as far as I know. However, there were always questions about converion in general. In the early Middle Ages a man who was known as Ovadiah the Convert wrote to the great sage Maimonides to ask a question. Could he recite the opening words of the Amida, containing the expression "God of our fathers," since, technically, the patriarchs were not his biological ancestors. Maimonides wrote back unequivocally that a convert could recite these words. He writes in a well known teshuvah:

"Anyone who converts [from then] until the end of all generations, and anyone who proclaims the unity of the Name of the Holy One blessed be He, as is prescribed in the Torah – is counted amongst the disciples of Abraham our forefather and they are members of his household, and he has restored all of them to the correct path. Just as he restored the people of his generation through his word of mouth and by his teaching, so too he restored all those who will one day convert with his testament that he left to his children and to his household. …thus, Abraham our forefather is the father of all worthy people that follow in his ways, and he is a father to his students, and they include anyone who converts. Therefore, you should say “Our God and God of our forefathers” for Abraham is your father. And you should say “Who has given to our forefathers” for the Land was given to Abraham."

Maimonides made no distinction based on the race of the convert. To embrace Judaism is to become part of the greater Jewish family.

Question: Should I refrain from consuming media produced by celebrities who later became known as Anti-Semites? For example, the Lethal Weapon series includes Mel Gibson, although it was produced before he became known as an Anti-Semite. Another example is the music of Pink Floyd, which included Roger Waters, but was produced before Waters became known as an Anti-Semite.
[Administrator's note: This issue appears in various forms. For example, one question on the website has to do with purchasing German-made autos (and other products): http://www.jewishvaluesonline.org/question.php?id=991.
In another context, many rabbis advise the couples they counsel not to use any music at their wedding composed by Wagner or Mendelsohn because they either worked with/supported the Nazi regime, or they were seen as destroyers of Judaism - which is why it is rare to hear "The Wedding March" by Mendelsohn at a Jewish wedding.
Not too long ago, a fashion designer expressed vile anti-Semitic views, and there were repercussions, including at least one famous person publicly refusing to wear anything by him, or from the design house he worked for, raising a massive amount of negative publicity for that fashion house.
The issue that underlies this question is whether the person, and their actions/politics, can be separated from the art they create. It deals with memory, repentance, forgiveness, compassion, and punishment, among other matters.]

I’m one of those rabbis who insist that couples not use Mendelsohn’s wedding march (or Wagner’s march, for that matter) at a Jewish wedding, especially when the wedding occurs in a synagogue. Recently, however, I began listening to a lot of classical music on the radio and discovered that not only was it difficult to avoid Mendelsohn but that his music is truly beautiful. I found myself struggling with the question of where one draws the line. Should one avoid the work of any artist who has a reputation as an anti-Semite? If so, do I have a responsibility to vet the artists I listen to?

There is no dearth of anti-Semites in the world of classical music or in Hollywood for that matter. Even Walt Disney was accused of being an anti-Semite. In Wikipedia, it says: “In 1938 Disney welcomed German filmmaker and Nazi propagandist Leni Riefenstahl to Hollywood to promote her film Olympia. Even after news of Kristallnacht broke, he did not cancel his invitation to Riefenstahl. Disney told Riefenstahl he admired her work but if it became known that he was considering hiring her, it would damage his reputation.” Does this mean I should never watch a Disney movie again?

This question reaches beyond the question of antisemitism. There are people associated with media and arts of questionable character; some are even Jewish. My wife will not watch a movie produced by Woody Allan because of his immoral behavior. So I return to my first question: where do I draw a line?

I would have to say that this is ultimately a very personal question and not a black and white question of right and wrong. Whether or not I listen to Mendelssohn or watch a film in which Mel Gibson is the star will probably not affect the success or failure of the movie. I may feel that I do not want to expose myself to the work of an anti-Semitic person or support a Jew who is morally reprehensible, but that has more to do with my character than it does with the success of the individual. We will all make our judgments based on different criteria. On the other hand, if the work in question contains anti-Semitic content, then I have a responsibility not only to boycott the material but to encourage others to do so as well. Similarly, if the funds raised by such a work of art or media are being used in reprehensible ways, than I have a moral responsibility to do everything in my power to foil the success of the work and to inform others regarding the immoral use of the money raised through this movie or work.

That said, I probably still won’t allow people to play Mendelssohn or Wagner in my synagogue. But that has a lot to do with sensitivity to the congregation that may be present on such occasions. Am I being inconsistent? Probably. But I suspect that we are more than a little inconsistent in such matters!

Question: I am an employee at a Jewish institution who was abruptly elevated to fill the role of my superior a few years ago when my superior unexpectedly retired. I was under contract with multiple years still to go on that contract.
As the employing organization was in turmoil over the sudden retirement, there was a great deal of confusion, distress, a precipitous loss of supporters, and there was a financial crisis due both to the economic downturn and the loss of support. On taking the role of my superior, I turned my attention to reassuring the staff, retaining and recovering supporters, and providing continuity of leadership, in order to stabilize and to rebuild the organization. All those efforts have proven successful.
Now that the employer has seen support re-established, and has largely restored and even begun to improve its overall financial position, I have asked them to renegotiate my contract to reflect my current position and role, the role I have actually fulfilled during the past several years, rather than continuing to hold me in the lessor role that I previously filled.
The organizational leadership did not choose to bring up the issue, or consider making this change on their own. I have now raised it. Assuming that the renegotiation proceeds as expected, I will be confirmed in the superior role, and will be awarded a compensation commensurate with that role.
My question is whether it is appropriate for me to ask the organization to compensate me for the difference in the amount I was paid in the junior role while serving in the role of the superior? In other words, am I owed 'back pay' for stepping up and fulfilling the more challenging role?
I believe that there is an argument to be made that the organization may have transgressed several Jewish values and principles in this matter, including Kavod HaBriyot, Yosher, and perhaps even Geneiva.
I am asking specifically in regard to Jewish values, not secular law issues here. What is your take on this?

Let me begin by saying that I’m sorry that you are facing such an unfortunate situation in your work place. It is very difficult to fulfill ones responsibilities when one feels undervalued by the people one serves and for whom one works. This is especially true when one works for a Jewish organization that should be motivated by the highest Jewish values and ideals

It seems to me that you are asking at least three questions. The first question is, what legal obligation does the institution have to you as an employee? The second question concerns the moral and ethical responsibility of the institution to you. Finally, there is the question of your responsibilities to the institution. What do you owe the institution for which you work?

The first question is probably best addressed to a lawyer or to the people who work for your professional or denominational organization. While I am not an expert in labor law, it seems to me that as long as you are obligated by a previous agreement, the institution is within its right to pay you an agreed upon compensation. Furthermore, while it may make sense to show their appreciation for the work you did above and beyond this agreement, I do not believe they have an obligation to pay you additional compensation. It is probably short sighted not to find some way to reward you for your efforts but in the terms of your contract the institution is doing what it is legally responsible for. Professional responsibilities, particularly of clergy, are not limited to specific responsibilities. Rabbis, cantors, executive directors and educational directors who work full time for an organization are expected to do whatever is necessary to maintain the organizations need even if the needs change over the course of the contract.

The second question is much more difficult. Does a Jewish institution have a moral responsibility to compensate you for your efforts to maintain the organization at a transitional time? Jewish institutions should treat their employees with respect and should compensate them for their efforts. You, however, would have been working at this institution, whether or not the senior employee had suddenly retired. Would you have received more compensation for doing a better job or working longer hours if he was still there? I suspect you would not expect that to happen. On the other hand, it is in the interest of an institution to show its appreciation to an employee who has gone over and above the expectations of others – especially if it wants him to remain a satisfied employee. Appreciation, however, can be shown in many ways (extra time off, a gift from the congregation, a testimonial dinner, or a new contract reflecting the new position); money is only one of the ways someone can show appreciation.

Finally, I would ask you to think about your responsibility as an employee of Jewish institution. Much is demanded of Jewish professionals – they are hardly ever paid as much as they deserve. However, I would hate to think that our work simply comes down to monetary compensation. My first pulpit as a Rabbi was only part-time; I earned five thousand dollars for an entire year of leading services on Shabbat and holidays. I was called on to teach, to officiate at life cycle events and to be the spiritual leader of the congregation. How much I was paid did not affect how I did my job or what was expected of me. I would hope that this institution would find a way to show its appreciation to you for your efforts but the real reward is serving the Jewish community as a Jewish professional.

Question: I've been struggling with attending High Holiday services when I don't believe in God. I grew up Orthodox so the push from my parents to attend is quite strong, but I feel that the services are becoming less meaningful every year. I'm feeling very confused about what I should do: 1) attend services even though I don't find them meaningful because it would make my parents happy, or 2) do something meaningful during that time which pushes me towards my other values in life (friends, helping others, etc.)?

Thank you for your question. Finding meaning in prayer and struggling with faith are not easy matters. Even those who believe and are committed to a traditional Jewish life style struggle with these questions.

Recently, I came across a passage in Leon Wieseltier’s book Kaddish that spoke to me and I hope will speak to you as well. Mr. Wieseltier grew up in an Orthodox home and received a Yeshiva education but became alienated from religion at some point in his life. When his father passed away, he decided to honor him by reciting Kaddish in synagogue during the year of mourning even though he was no longer a believing Jew. He decided, however, to devote time during the year to the study of the Kaddish– his book is a brilliant journal of his studies and his own struggles with faith. Wieseltier writes:

It occurred to me today that I might spend a whole year in shul, morning prayers, afternoon prayers and evening prayers, and never have a religious experience. A discouraging notion. Yes I must not ask for what cannot be given. Shul was not invented for a religious experience. In shul, a religious experience is an experience of religion. The rest is up to me.

If I understand your dilemma, you feel that you only have two choices: either make your parents happy and suffer through services, or avoid dealing with the holidays completely by doing something completely non-religious. I would like to suggest to you that your question is not necessarily either/or.

First I would have to say that honoring your parents by being with them at a time of year is not necessarily a bad thing for you (or for them). After all, you may not believe in God but I suspect you still feel the compelling nature of the statement, “Honor your father and your mother!”

Having said that, I would suggest that there is a lot that a non-believing person can accomplish by being present in synagogue. One can use the time during services for meaningful self-reflection and one can connect with the Jewish community even if one doesn’t believe in God. I often suggest to my doubting congregants that they bring an appropriate book with them to services so that when they are not praying they are reading. You might find that Wieseltier’s book would be a good exercise for you as a non-believing person who still feels a connection to the Jewish people and culture.

Finally, even you do not believe the questions that the High Holy Days raise can be a meaningful opportunity to explore your own life, and that of your family. I have always thought that the holidays have more to do with asking questions than finding the answers.

Question: Is watching pornography hypocritical? Most people watch porn, but when I imagine that my daughter would come to me one day with something like “Dad, I decided to play in porn“ (well, it would probably by a neighbor and not my daughter...), I don't think I could take that (I think that most people couldn't take that) and those “actresses“ are someones' daughters, too. Problem is that when I start to consider pornography to be hypocritical, I start to be judgmental, and since (I think) most people watch porn, it is quite a problem. (Moreover, I think that being judgmental is definitely worse than watching porn).
I should probably add that I am a secular Jew, but for most secular people pornography is not a problem, so I ask here.What do Jewish values tell us about this?
Thank you for any answers.

At the risk of sounding judgmental, I would have to say from both a personal and Jewish perspective, pornography is both wrong and immoral. The fact that ‘everybody’ watches porn, as you claim, (a premise that I don’t believe) doesn’t make it right, any more than a German supporting the genocidal policies of the Nazi regime was right because most Germans supported their government’s policies.

There is a difference between being judgmental of others and forming a value judgment on what one believes to be the right path that one should follow in life. Even if one falls short of consistently living up to that standard, one can still believe that there is a higher moral standard that people should strive for in life. Of course, if one consistently says something is wrong but chooses act contrary to that standard then one could argue that such a person is hypocritical, not judgmental.

That said let me address your primary question: What do Jewish values tell us about pornography? Jewish tradition begins with the premise that we are created in the image of God and that the miracle of God’s creation is reflected in both body and soul. That means that our bodies and the bodies of others must be treated with respect and reverence. They are not to be used or exploited.

One of the ways we do that is by expressing modesty in dress, language and in the type of images to which we expose ourselves. Pornography demeans and objectifies other human beings. It makes their bodies and the private sexual acts of others a source of personal stimulation. To use the language of Martin Buber, it turns another person into an “it” rather than a “thou.”

This is not a matter of prudery or Victorian prudishness. We cover our bodies not because we are ‘embarrassed’ by them or because we consider them ‘dirty,’ but because we consider them holy. That means they must be treated in a respectful way and that certain acts should be private. An example of this is the way we treat the Torah when it is read publically. In between each section that is read from the Torah, it is customary to cover the scroll with a cloth and not to leave it exposed. We cover the Torah not because we are embarrassed by it but out of reverence for what the Torah represents. Similarly, we cover ourselves and do not expose our naked bodies of others because it is our way of showing reverence for the person as God’s creation.

Whether or not one accepts the religious basis of this explanation, I believe a strong argument can be made both philosophically and practical for declaring pornography immoral. Pornography is a means of degrading others. While one might argue that nudity and sexuality in the context of art and literature serve some higher purpose, pornography, by definition, serves only to stimulate others. Sexuality like all creation is a gift but it is best expressed between two caring people who have entered into a meaningful and committed relationship.

In an article which appears on the American Humanist Association website (a decidedly secular organization) the authors write: “The role violence plays in pornography trivializes rape, sexual aggression, and other forms of abuse. When we encourage males to include dehumanizing acts in sex and teach women to accept various forms of violence against them as a “natural” part of sexual activity, we are condoning violence against women.”

Because an act involves consenting adults doesn’t make it all right. Is that a judgmental statement? I guess it is. But unless you are prepared to say that there are no such thing as moral standards by which people should live, then I am willing to risk being judgmental. In any case, one does not have to be judgmental to accept upon oneself a standard of behavior that makes pornography wrong, no matter what other people may be doing. Consensus doesn’t make something OK.

Question: Can a non-Jewish female, who had a Jewish father and who has wholeheartedly embraced Judaism at the age of 50, legally become a prominent member of importance in a national and international Jewish women's organisation? Also can this person be a member of an Orthodox synagogue?

At the beginning of the twenty-first century, Jewish identity remains a complex matter. It is an ideological and halachic issue that often divides Jews from one another. The question you are asking, then, cannot be answered with absolute certainty because religious ‘movements’ and even Jewish organizations have different policies with regard to membership and affiliation.

Traditionally, Jewish identity is defined by one’s mother. That is, if one has a Jewish mother, then one is considered Jewish according to Conservative and Orthodox rabbis; if one’s father is Jewish but ones’ mother is not, then one would not be considered Jewish without undergoing a formal ceremony conversion, ‘according to Jewish law.’ This would involve a visit to the mikveh, a ritual pool for both men and women, and either circumcision or a ceremony called hatafat dam brit, for men.

The Reform and Reconstructionist movements embraced a policy in favor of patrilineal decent so that any person who has a Jewish parent and identifies himself or herself as Jewish would be considered Jewish.

As a Conservative Rabbi, I often encounter people who have non-Jewish mothers and Jewish fathers. While conversion is necessary in such cases, I usually treat such conversions differently than I would a person who seeks to convert to Judaism without any prior Jewish lineage. This is particularly the case when the person in question has been raised as a Jew without a formal conversion. In such cases, I explain that they while they are Jewish in identity, they need to formalize their identity and practice in law, much as a person born in a foreign country but raised in the United States may feel American but not have the benefit of citizenship because they were not formally naturalized.

Jewish organizations may vary in terms of their policy on Jewish identity. National and international organizations that are synagogue based may have the same requirements as the synagogue. Many other organizations, because they have a non-religious in nature, do not question the basis of one’s Jewish identity. Simple identification is enough. This would not be the case for an Orthodox or a Conservative synagogue. In such cases, a conversation with the rabbi of the congregation will help clarify what is expected of members.

Following the ritual of conversion, you would be considered Jewish and there should be no barriers to your full participation in the synagogue and its various organizations. In fact, the Talmud prohibits reminding a person of their prior status. The person who undergoes conversion is considered no different than someone who is born to two Jewish parents.

Your acceptance or non-acceptance as a Jew by an organization or a synagogue is not a judgment of you as a person. It is recognition that we live in a complex world where we don’t all agree on what it is that defines Jewish identity. Your passionate sense of Jewish identity should be honored and respected but at the same time, I hope you will be respectful of the need of people to define Jewish identity based on their understanding of Jewish tradition and their conscience.

Question: I live in the US southwest, where there are not a lot of Jews. I was raised in a place where it was the total opposite, and there were synagogues within walking distance.
What are some suggestions for developing a closer relationship with G-d in my circumstances? In my opinion, everyone needs to work on their relationship with G-d. It seems funny, but I do not remember ever in Hebrew/religious school learning about the subject of how to develop a relationship with G-d when you already believe in G-d. What does Judaism tell us about this?

It is unfortunate that contemporary Jews are all too often reluctant to speak about God. Many who attended Hebrew/religious school had a similar experience to you. Not only did our teachers fail to talk about God, but many of us grew up without ever hearing rabbis discuss the importance of developing a personal relationship with God. When I was growing up as the member of a Conservative Synagogue, sermons tended to be about Israel, social justice and “tradition” but matters of spirituality were often seen as “too personal” to be addressed from the pulpit. We are now dealing with the consequences of that silence: young Jews are more likely to speak of themselves as “spiritual” rather than observant (as if one can separate these two ways of expressing oneself religiously) and large numbers of contemporary Jews have sought out such a relationship elsewhere in the religious landscape of North America.

Our silence is not indicative of Jewish life but a product of the secular culture in which we live. Judaism is a four thousand year love affair with God. Abraham is called a “friend of God” and our covenant (brit) is often described as a marriage between God and the people of Israel. It is true that God-talk focuses heavily on peoplehood in the Jewish religion but developing a personal relationship with God is equally important for living a full Jewish life. I think about this each day as I wrap my Tefillin straps around my finger and recite the words of the prophet Hosea, “I betroth you unto me forever; I betroth you unto me with righteousness, justice, love and compassion; I betroth you unto me with faithfulness and you shall know the Lord.” There are countless passages in the prayer book and the Bible that shed light on our personal relationship with God. Rabbinic literature has been described as ushering the individual into “Normal Mysticism,” in which we experience God’s presence in the everyday encounters of life: in a piece of bread, seeing a rainbow, or even going to the bathroom! Jewish philosophy, Kabbalah, and Hasidic thought all devote a great deal of space and thought to understand our relation with the Almighty.

How does one go about developing such a relationship? I would suggest following the advice offered in Pirke Avot: “Yehoshua ben Perachya said: Provide yourself with a teacher and find a study partner for yourself.” While there are a great many resources available today both online and in the library, Judaism should be studied in partnership with others. Having a teacher who has a broader and deeper understanding of Jewish life and thought can be helpful. But it may be important for you to find someone who is open to speaking about such spiritual matters – and equally important for him or her to be not only a good teacher but a good listener. Finally, finding a community is also very important. We encounter God both in solitude and in community. It is no accident that most of our prayers are written in the first person plural – WE.

Living in an area where there are few Jews and even fewer synagogues, means that you will have to wrestle with the question of driving on Shabbat and holidays. Traditionally Jews do not drive on the Sabbath. In the 1950’s the Conservative Movement issued a responsa in which they discussed the changing geography of contemporary Jewish life. Many Jews no longer lived within walking distance of a synagogue. Some rabbis suggested that driving directly to and from synagogue on the Sabbath might be permissible if that was one’s only way of creating a Sabbath experience for oneself. But even if you choose to preserve the sanctity of the Sabbath finding other opportunities for learning and praying with other Jews should be part of developing such a relationship.

Question: Is a husband obligated to provide for his wife?
My husband and I have been married for one year. We are both in our sixties. I agreed to sign a prenup because my husband (who is financially quite comfortable) wanted to protect his estate for his son.
I have worked all my life and have always taken care of myself. I earn about half of what my husband does and never inherited any family money. The bottom line is that the prenup became very contentious and I saw the final version at the signing - 48 hours before our wedding. Our guests had already begun arriving. I walked out of the signing and spoke with my attorney who advised that this document was the "best he could do given that my husband started on the process two weeks before our wedding." Against my better judgement, I signed it. Within the first three months of our marriage I wanted it changed. We went to a therapist and he agreed to make changes. There have been continuous fights and multiple promises from him (lies) to make changes.To date, nothing has been done. My fear is that if something happens to him I will not be able to afford to live in the apartment that we presently share. My husband owns the apartment, our prenup stipulated that I pay him rent. EVERYTHING he has goes to his son. I secretly discovered his will- which he refuses to discuss with me. In order to be in compliance with state law he is obligated to leave me something. He is leaving me 2% of his estate and a minimum monthly allowance (administered by his son whom I don't care for) toward the apartment upkeep. Prior to our marriage I was an independent self-supporting woman had an apartment which I could easily afford, lived quite comfortably, and was not dependent on anyone. I gave away most of my furniture, have lost my apartment, and if something happens to my husband will be dependent on the generosity of his son. Even more shocking is that in his will it states, " If I am unable to keep up with the monthly maintenance for the apartment, the estate has the right to evict me in 90 days." My husband and I dated for 5 years prior to our marriage.I lived with him for two of those years although I always kept my own apartment. I saw him as generous of both his time and money to charity, overly generous towards his son, and as a well-liked and respected member of the community both professionally and socially. Until the prenup, I never experienced this side of him or had any indication that he would behave like this. Is this a moral and ethical way to treat one's wife ? What can I do?

Let me begin by saying how sorry I am that you are facing such painful realities in your new marriage. Unfortunately, second marriages that take place later in life are often laden with such difficulties. No matter how devoted a couple is to one another, they carry much baggage from their first marriage: a commitment to their children from their previous marriage, the patterns set earlier in life in their family relations, and a long history going back to their own parents. Property and wealth are often an obstacle to a trusting relationship. In addition to these issues, children may be ambivalent about seeing their parents remarry. It is for all these reasons that couples should undergo serious personal and family counseling when entering into a second marriage. In addition, couples should work out financial and legal issues before the wedding day and not afterwards. No matter how warm and caring a relationship may be before the marriage takes place, things tend to change after the huppah as a couple begins to deal with their respective families not to mention their personal wealth.

Your question is, “What financial and social obligation does a husband have to his wife from a Jewish perspective?” We might add two other questions to this one: “What obligations does a wife have to her husband,” and “Does the fact that the couple is entering into a second marriage where each couple has children and family from a previous marriage change the moral equation?” The Torah and Talmud speak of the obligations of a husband to his wife. The Torah and the marriage contracts says that husbands must provide four things for his wife: 1) he must provide food 2) clothing; and 3) her conjugal needs. 4) and the amount of ketubah in case of his death or a divorce. (Today we presume that the civil courts will arrange for financial remuneration in case of a divorce.) Technically, the children of the husband inherit his estate (not the wife), though the husband has an obligation to provide means of support for the woman if he pre-deceases her. All of these laws, however, presume a first marriage. These issues are far more complicated in the case of a second marriage, where each person has his or her own property. The question, it seems to me, is not religious or moral, as much as it is legal and emotional.

I would suggest that you must begin by asking yourself: why did the two of you marry in the first place? What were your expectations in marriage? If your purpose in entering into this relationship was to free yourself of the burden of providing for yourself, then, you must re-examine your motives. Similarly, if your husband entered into this marriage so that someone would pay half of the rent, then he was less than honest with you. Your husband has placed you in a vulnerable position financially, and he needs to find some way to acknowledge in his arrangements for you welfare after death.

If two people care for one another and love one another unconditionally, and they care about each other’s families, than I believe they can work the difficult issues in marriage where there is an estate and children from a previous marriage. Your husband has some legitimate concerns about providing for his heirs, but it also sounds like he was less than honest in how he addressed these issues.

The Talmud says that “making matches is harder than splitting the Red Sea.” No place is this as true as in the case of marriage between mature adults. The two of you need to sit down with a councilor not to negotiate financial and legal matters but to figure out what it was that brought you together in the first place and what you expect of one another. The Bible tells us, “It is not good for a person to be alone.” The companionship, intimacy, and the mutual support and caring that two people bring to one another in their mature years can be a real blessing. Love is possible at all ages and a couple must be able separate legal issues from their marriage. I believe that the two of you will be a lot happier if you can work these issues out in a mutually acceptable way so that you can then develop a loving and caring relationship together. My thoughts and blessings are with you.

Question: In some apartments and dorm rooms, people are not allowed to have open flames [by regulation or by law, usually for safety considerations]. I have seen many electric Shabbat candles, but not havdalah candles. What does one do to properly end Shabbat if they are not able to light the havdalah candle? Or are there electric havdalah candles available?

In some apartments and dorm rooms, people are not allowed to have open flames [by regulation or by law, usually for safety considerations]. I have seen many electric Shabbat candles, but not Havdalah candles. That being said, what does one do to properly end Shabbat if they are not able to light the Havdalah candle? Or are there electric Havdalah candles available?

One of the principles of Jewish law that we try to respect is Dina d’makhuta dina, “The law of the land is the official law.” This is particularly true when the purpose of the law is not spurious but a way of protecting the safety of others. After all, pikuach nefesh, or saving a life, takes precedence over most other commandments in the Jewish tradition. Fires in public places and dorms are all too frequent occurrences, often with devastating results; it is important to honor and observe these rules.

Unfortunately, an electric light cannot really be used to usher in or conclude the Shabbat. The electric Shabbat candles may look nice but they are not a replacement for the Shabbat candles. They are especially useful in hospitals and other settings where candles cannot be lit and being unable to usher in the Sabbath would be distressing to the patient. I would suggest that for the rest of us, the appropriate way to welcome the Sabbath is by reciting the Kiddush, the blessings over the wine and acknowledging the sanctity of the day. In Talmudic times the Kiddush was the way that people acknowledged the transition from week day to holy day, just as Havdalah was the way one marked the transition from holy day to week day.

For Havdalah, there is a simple solution. When reciting the blessing over the fire (borei m’orei ha’esh) in the Havdalah service, one can look up at a light bulb and hold one’s hands up to the light as one would have done with the Havdalah candle. This would serve the same purpose as lighting a candle.

Having said that, I would suggest that you talk with whoever is in charge of safety in the dorm or in the apartment building. Since the Havdalah candle is only lit for a few minutes and is under constant observation, this might not be seen as a problem. For Shabbat candles, some people place their candle sticks in the sink to prevent fires. You might discuss other strategies with whoever is in charge so that you can find innovative ways to observe our traditions.

Question: Hello, my name is Gabriela, I am from Argentina. My question is: why G'd created soul mates and then separated them and made them look for each other during their lives? What is the purpose of that? I dont understand.... [How does this fit into Jewish values?]
Thank you.

The Jewish tradition that claims that marriages are arranged in heaven is very old and a very romantic idea. It first appeared in the Talmud: "Rab Yehudah said in the name of Rab: Forty days before the creation of a child, a divine voice (bat kol) issues forth and proclaims in heaven, 'The daughter of A is for B!'" (Sotah 2a) Later in the Zohar, the classic work of Kabbalah, this idea found its full expression: "Each soul, prior to entering this world consists of a male and female united in one being. When it descends on this earth, the two parts separate and animate two different bodies. At the time of marriage, the Holy One who knows all souls and spirits, unites them as they were before and again they constitute one body and one soul…" (Zohar 1:91a) I believe that this is the basis of the term bashert, that every person has one person who is their destined partner in life.

If we were to understand this idea literally then you are asking a valid question. It might seem cruel for god to create our destined partner, a soul mate, for us and then to separate us from them so that we have to spend a life time searching for the person with whom we are supposed to be. Of course, there is something to be said for having to labor at accomplishing significant things in life. Searching for a treasure makes the treasure even more precious. I am not sure we would value our soul mate as much if we didn’t have to go out into the world and search for them ourselves. That search also allows us to learn about ourselves, our likes and dislikes , and our priorities. Remember that the Talmud also tells us that while God may make matches, match making is as hard as "splitting the Red Sea." (Bereshit Rabbah 68:4) Even if someone is our soul mate does not mean that it is enough to simply be matched up with them.

Personally, I do not understand this idea quite so literally. We cannot know God's ways or the mysteries of the universe. Love itself is also a mystery. Why do two people fall in love with one another (and why do they sometimes fall out of love, if they were destined for one another)? What is it that draws them together? We can’t know the answers to these questions.

Yet when we fall in love and find the person with whom we wish to spend our lives, we feel such a deep sense of connection that our love seems to transcend the mortal world. That is why people in love often describe that person as their "bashert," as their soul mate, with whom they were destined to be. Once they meet they cannot imagine their life without them. That is nothing less than a miracle - and surely, in some way God must be responsible for bringing these two people together and inspiring a love that transcends self interest. In counseling couples before marriage and speaking to seasoned couples who are still very much in love after decades of marriage, they often describe their relationship as two halves of a single soul. So maybe this idea of being separated from ones partner only to find them again in the world is not so much a description of what happens but what it means to be completely in love with another person. This is not a statement of what is, but a description of what we strive for in a marriage.

Question: What can we learn about Israel's vs. America's social protests? The majority of the Israeli public wholeheartedly supported the summer's social protest movement with peaceful large mass rallies nationwide, while in America, there was a lack of positive, peaceful support for the Occupy Wall Street protests.

What can we learn from how the majority of the Israeli public wholeheartedly supported the summer's social protest movement with peaceful large mass rallies nationwide versus the lack of positive peaceful general mass support for the Occupy Wall Street protests in the U.S.?

As someone who was fortunate to spend the first half of the summer in Israel when the protests were unfolding there and the second half of the summer in back in the United States, I was able to observe both protest movements. I have to say that neither movement met with complete approval or disapproval from the public and neither was quite as simple or straightforward as you make them out to be. While the protests in Israel may have been more peaceful (but not completely peaceful), they were no less controversial.

Israel faced a series of protests and strikes during the summer in response to the economic conditions that Israelis are facing these days. It began with complaints over the cost of staples like cottage cheese; it continued with protests by medical students and nurses because of the long hours and difficult conditions they face while working in hospitals; and it reached its climax with the creation of tent cities and public rallies throughout the countries in response to the high cost of housing and the inability of young Israelis to afford apartments.

But the housing protests did not take place without public criticism. Some felt that the tent cities were an excuse to complain about a wide variety of social and political issues unrelated to housing. Some complained that the protesters were malcontents without a clear message. In this sense, the criticism was not so very different from the type of criticism that I heard back here in the United States.

If there was more sympathy for the protesters in Israel than in the United States, I believe it has much to do with the nature and size of Israeli society. Israel is a small country. What happens to individual, tends to affect the society as a whole. Everyone seems to know someone who is struggling with low salaries and the high cost of housing, so this is not just a social issue; it's personal.

Also, Israelis take an active interest in one another's lives. Consider how engaged Israelis were in responding to the captivity of Gilad Shalit just a year before. There is a strong sense of group responsibility in Israel that grows out of the Israeli experience: spending time in the army, dealing with hostile neighbors, and building a society based on the Zionist vision. It's what I love about Israel! Also, anyone who has spent time in Israel knows that Israelis take an active interest in one another's business. One person will think nothing of telling a parent on a bus how to raise their children! So Israelis are deeply sensitive to the issues effecting their neighbors and often become engaged in loud and passionate discussion of such issues.

Finally, Israeli society as a whole is dealing with dramatic changes over the past few decades. Israel has experienced unprecedented success in technology and innovative start-up companies. But Israel has made a rocky transition from a socialistic to a capitalist economy. Some have benefited while many have been left behind. There is also a growing gap between the rich and the poor in Israel which concerns Israelis. While Americans often ignore this gap in our own society (wrongly, I would suggest), Israelis simply cannot do so. It is all around them. And at the end of the day, Israel is really just a big family in which there a deep sense of communal responsibility.

While Judaism offers a great deal of latitude for the freedom of expression, I do not think it would be correct to characterize freedom of speech as a 'Torah value' or a 'Jewish value,' at least in the sense that we define freedom of speech in the contemporary world.

When we speak of freedom of speech, we think of the American Bill of Rights. In Jewish law and in Scripture, Judaism is defined not so much by individual freedom as it is by communal responsibilities and obligations. American law is structured to protect the individual from governmental controls. The primary purpose of Jewish law is to create a 'nation of priests and a holy people.' It is more concerned with promoting righteous living than it is with celebrating the autonomy or the rights of the individual.

There are limits, then, placed on self-expression particularly when it comes to words that could harm others. This goes far beyond laws against slander in our society. Gossip, even when it is not malicious, is prohibited by Jewish law and is considered a sin from a Jewish standpoint. In addition, limits were often placed on the community when it came to the expression of ideas outside the accepted norms of Judaism. The rabbis could resort to ex-communication to place controls on self-expression within the context of community as we see in the case of Benedict Spinoza.

That being said, there is a great deal of room in Jewish discourse for the expression of dissenting points of view. Talmudic law is not as concerned with presenting the official point of view as it is with arguing the pro and con of each issue. Minority opinions are included in the Mishnah and the Talmud even when they are not the accepted point of view, as we see in the cases of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Even though the School of Hillel is almost always the accepted point of view in matters of Jewish law, the rabbis took the opinions of the School of Shammai seriously. At the end of the day, however, the official point of view must be accepted as the law no matter what the theoretical arguments for the other point of view may be.

One of the best known examples of this conflict between individual expression and communal norms is the story of the aknai oven (Bava Metzia 59a-b). In this famous case Rabbi Eliezer took exception with his colleagues regarding the ritual purity of a certain type of oven. Rabbi Eliezer offers a series of 'proofs' for his point of view which are entirely circumstantial; he says that if he is correct then, a carob tree will uproot itself and move to another spot; the river will flow backwards; that the walls of the academy will fall. In each case the sages reject his 'supernatural' proofs. In the end Rabbi Eliezer says, "If the halachah agrees with me, let it be proved from Heaven!’ Whereupon a Heavenly Voice cried out: ‘Why do you dispute with Rabbi Eliezer, seeing that in all matters the halachah agrees with him!’" Despite the voice of God taking sides the rabbis again reject Rabbi Eliezer's point of view by saying: "The Torah is not in heaven! …the Torah had already been given at Mount Sinai; we pay no attention to a Heavenly Voice, since it is written in the Torah, 'After the majority must one incline.'" Less well known is the end of this story: the rabbis excommunicated Rabbi Eliezer because he was unwilling to accept the majority opinion.

Whatever the classical point of view may be, I would have to say that we value freedom of speech today as if it were a "Torah value." Living in a world in which self expression is deeply important and in which pluralism is part of the vitality of the contemporary Jewish community, we recognize that we gain a great deal by encouraging freedom of expression in the Jewish community. Like the sages of Talmud, we affirm the teaching Lo bashamayim hee, "the Torah is no longer in heaven, and there are many different ways of reading Torah today. As Jews we have often been the victims of political and moral oppression. There is much more to be gained by being advocates of freedom then there is by curtailing the freedom of the individual.

Question: Please can you help me understand the modern meaning of the word 'chayav' (to be guilty of a transgression / to owe someone something) and give examples. Can you tell me whether such a word appears in the Tanakh (Bible)?

There are so many things we just assume that we know until we look a little closer! After doing some research, I was surprised to learn that the word chayav does not appear in the Tanakh. The closest we get to this word in the Hebrew Bible is in Ezekiel, chapter 18, verse 7: “If a person has returned the debtor his pledge (chov) and has taken nothing by robbery…” Chov comes from the same Hebrew root as chayav. It would appear to mean an obligation or a debt. Most of its later meanings appear to revolve around this understanding of the root word, chet-vav-bet. The word is commonly used in rabbinic literature. According to Jastrow, the preeminent dictionary of Rabbinic Hebrew and Aramaic, chayav has at least three meanings. (1) debtor, as in, “when the debtor admits that the note has not been paid;” (2) to be obligated, as in “he is obligated to leave the corners of his field for the poor;” (3) guilty, as in, “guilty of desecrating the Sabbath;” sometimes in rabbinic literature the word chayav is used for a sinner or a wicked person.

Generally, chayav is used today to speak about religious obligations. One is ‘obligated’ or not regarding the observance of certain mitzvot, commandments. The opposite of chayav is patur, exempt, as in the statement, “women are exempt from time bound commandments.” For contemporary Jews this is a difficult idea with which we are constantly wrestling. What does it mean to be ‘obligated?’ Who ‘obligates’ us? For traditional Jews obligation grows out of a concept of revelation; we all stood at Sinai and received the Torah from God along with the 613 commandments and the various explanations and elaborations of these commandments. Conservative Jews understand chiyuv, obligation, in a variety of different ways. For some, the Torah is a human response to revelation and not literally, ‘the word of God.’ Either through divine inspiration or human contemplation, our ancestors tried to write down what they experienced at Sinai. The obligatory aspect of Jewish law grows out of a sense that we discover God through the commandments and a sense of commitment to Jewish peoplehood. For some liberal Jews ‘obligation’ is a personal choice; we choose to obligate us but are not obligated by some transcendent power. This is obviously an over-simplification of a much more complicated issue, but the point is to say that we all understand what it means to be bound or obligated by Jewish law and tradition in different ways.

In rabbinic literature the issue is straight forward: one is either obligated or exempt, and the sages spent a great deal of time trying to ascertain the answer to this question for each individual mitzvah, commandment.

It might be help for us to think of chayav in its original meaning: an obligation is a pledge that was made by our ancestors and which we continue to carry with us. It is a sacred pledge which enriches and deepens our life rather than a debt, though we might think of it that way too. We are told, for instance, in the Haggadah, “Each person is obligated (chayav) to see himself/herself as if he/she personally went forth from Egypt.” That obligation/pledge creates a moral compass by which we try to live both spiritually and morally. The same might be said for every chiyuv, or obligation.

There is nothing inherently wrong with draping a casket with an American flag prior to and during a funeral service from a Jewish perspective. While there are rules about how the type of materials used for the casket (preferably, a plain pine box), I would say that the practice of covering the casket falls into the category of minhag, custom. Customs differ from place to place and often depend on context. In some Jewish communities a plain material cover is placed on the casket. This cover will have verses from the Bible or Jewish symbols on it such as a Magen David. While such a cover was not required, it is permissible to use such a cover.

Military funerals have taken place in a Jewish setting for decades and the practice of draping an American flag on the casket is a common practice, today among rabbis of all movements. While some rabbis discourage burying Jewish service members in military cemeteries, and some may refuse to officiate at a funeral that takes place in a non-Jewish cemetery because there are many Jewish laws and customs governing the burial of Jews separately from non-Jew, burying someone in a Jewish cemetery with military honors is different.

In correspondence, the chair of the Conservative Movement’s Committee on Jewish Law and Standards has suggested that rabbis ask that the military elements of the funeral be separate from the Jewish elements because “we do not combine war and religion,” but again, this is a suggestion and not a law. (1997) Rabbi Harold L. Robin, director of the Jewish Chaplains Council about all of these issues and he said, "In short there is no aspect of a veteran’s funeral that would [necessarily] conflict with Jewish rites or halakhah and no need for compromises." (www. myjewishlearning.com/ask_the_expert/at/Ask_the_Expert_Military_Funerals.shtml)

It is interesting to note that military honors were accepted by all the clergy of all denominations during the Second World War, when Reform, Orthodox and Conservative military chaplains worked together to address issues about how such funerals were to be conducted as well as other questions of religious concern. Apparently, a generation or two ago there still was an understanding among American Jews that there is room for diversity and respect regarding different practices in our community.

From my perspective, those who have served our nation deserve to be recognized and honored as part of their funeral service if they so wish or if their families express a desire for such a ceremony. The flag, simply draped over a casket, and its presentation, to the next of kin with the playing of taps is a deeply moving ceremony that does not subtract from the ‘religious service.” I have found that the military personnel who show up for this ceremony are always flexible and respectful of our traditions and are willing to do whatever the rabbi or family aspects of them. As my colleagues have written, we believe that dina d’malkhuta dina, that “the law of the land is the law for all citizens,” is very much in in keeping with Jewish ethical and spiritual values.

Question: I live in the United States. My brother lives in Israel. He was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor and his life prognosis is between days and months. I work as a teacher and my job would not allow me to take off more than a few days. Also, financially, I cannot afford to go to Israel twice. Therefore, I feel a conflict of mitzvot (commandments). Should I go to visit my brother when he is alive and miss his funeral or should I wait until he passes away and go to the funeral. Which mitzvah is more important and what would you advise me to do in this situation? How do I balance these mitzvot?

First, let me begin by offering my deepest sympathies at this difficult time in your life. I can only imagine how painful it must be to be so far from your brother at a time like this.

Balancing conflicting priorities, particularly when they involve doing mitzvot, can be especially troubling at such times. Your question, as I understand it, is which mitzvah takes priority: bikkur holim (visiting the sick) or levayat hamet (burying the dead)? As important as it is to be present at your brother's funeral (not to mention comforting if he has a family of his own), it seems to me that bikkur holim, being there to support your brother while he is still alive, takes precedence as a mitzvah.

I believe this mitzvah is important both for him and for you. Your brother needs you now more than ever and you need the opportunity to have closure in your relationship with him: to say goodbye, to tell him how much you care about him, and to speak with him this final time is of greatest importance at this time. Besides, Judaism is a religion that celebrates life and not death - helping your brother while he is alive is far more important of flying to Israel to attend his funeral.

While it will be painful not to be able to be at his funeral, by remaining at home you will be able to sit shiva surrounded by your own family and friends in the community in which you live. There will be future opportunities for you to visit his grave, but there may only be more opportunity for you to speak to your brother and help him through this difficult time in his life. I am certain he will understand and I know he will appreciate having you at his bedside.

You do not mention whether your brother has a family of his own. This is my one misgiving about not being there when he passes. I am sure it would be most helpful to his family to have you present. But short of flying to Israel to be at his funeral and to sit shiva, you can stay in touch and call them on a daily basis during the first days after the funeral to offer your support.

May God ease your brother's suffering and your pain. I understand that there are no easy choices in a situation such as this one. I hope that you can be a support to your brother at a time like this.

Question: One of the most moving prayers of Yom Kippur is “Kol Nidre.” Yet it’s a rather boring description of how we are nullifying our vows from the past year. Shouldn’t the highlight of the Yom Kippur eve service be something more along the lines of repentance, forgiveness, or supplication? How did vow nullification get such prominent status?

One of the most moving prayers of Yom Kippur is “Kol Nidre.” Yet it’s a rather boring description of how we are nullifying our vows from the past year. Shouldn’t the highlight of the Yom Kippur eve service be something more along the lines of repentance, forgiveness, or supplication? How did vow nullification get such prominent status?

Kol Nidre is one of the strangest passages in our liturgy. It is often pointed out that it is not a prayer but a statement in which we renounce all vows and promises which we might make during the coming year (not the past year, as stated in the question). You correctly point out that Kol Nidre does not appear to relate directly to the major themes of Yom Kippur such as repentance or atonement. Kol Nidre is especially troubling because we ask to be let off the hook for future vows rather than the ones we have already made during the past year. Even if we assume that Kol Nidre only applies to promises made to God (and not to our fellow human beings) this is still troubling. How can we be forgiven before we perform an act or make a statement which we can't live up to? What does that say about the reliability of anything we say? In effect, we are saying, "If I make any promises during the coming year, God, just ignore them!"

We don’t know much about the origins of Kol Nidre. It has been around at least since the Gaonic period (the eighth or ninth century C.E.) and most likely it was composed even earlier. Rabbis have wrestled with this passage for centuries. Amram Gaon, one of the first editors of the Jewish prayer book, called the custom of reciting Kol Nidre a foolish custom. In the nineteenth century, there were rabbis who advocated removing it from the liturgy. Originally it was written in the past tense, for vows we have already made, but in the eleventh century Rabbi Meir ben Shmuel, grandson of the famed commentator Rashi, changed the language from the past tense to future tense. There might be two reasons for this change of tense. First, Rabbi Meir may have felt that a vow once stated is irrevocable; therefore you cannot ask to be 'forgiven for vows already made; only for those not yet stated. By changing the tense of the statement, one begins the year by asking God to excuse us from any rash vows we might make in the year ahead. Second, Rabbi Meir ben Shmuel lived during the aftermath of the Crusades. It is possible that he changed the tense in consideration of people who were forced by the Church to declare their allegiance to Christianity. Kol Nidre might have become a way of assuaging the guilt of those who now returned to the synagogue but felt guilty about having made a false oath to God or fearful of being coerced to make such a statement in the year ahead. That might explain why Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg added the introduction statement: "In the tribunal of Heaven and the tribunal of earth, by the permission of God and by the permission of this holy congregation, we hold it lawful to pray with transgressors."

Whatever the reason for this passage might have originally been, Kol Nidre took on a life of its own. It remained a beloved liturgical statement in the minds of the Jewish people.It wasn’t so much the content of Kol Nidre as it was the melody and the mood that are created by this declaration that made it an important part of the liturgy. It also focuses on one of our chief weaknesses: the misuse of language. This is a leitmotif of the Yom Kippur liturgy. A significant percentage of the transgressions we confess in the Vidui, the confessional prayer, have to do with sins of the tongue. What is more, we are about to spend an entire day in prayer and supplication. We might make rash promises to God over the course of the day to which we cannot live up. Therefore, we begin with a nullification of promises as a not so veiled warning against making such promises.

There is a passage in the Harlow Machzor of the Conservative Movement which captures and the real intention of Kol Nidre. It was written by a Hebrew poet,Zeev Falk, and it begins by echoing the language of Kol Nidre. I include this lovely translation of the poem by Rabbi Stanley Schachter here:

Question: We pray daily for the rebuilding of the Temple. But when it is rebuilt, will Korbanot be reinstituted as well? It seems like a custom that is not really in tune with our modern ideas and sensitivities.

We pray daily for the rebuilding of the Temple. But when it is rebuilt, will Korbanot be reinstituted as well? It seems like a custom that is not really in tune with our modern ideas and sensitivities.

The issue that you raise in your question is one with which many Jews continue to wrestle. As a Conservative Jew I am committed to making prayer part of my daily life. But there are portions of the liturgy that continue to trouble me. Rather than leaving them out of the liturgy, I continue to search for new ways to understand the prayer book. In some cases changes are made to reflect our changing understanding of our responsibilities and obligations to God.

In the early part of the twentieth century, small but significant changes were introduced into the traditional liturgy to reflect our changing attitudes toward sacrifice and the temple service. In the traditional prayer book it is customary to say: “Accept the prayer of your people …Restore the service and the fire offerings of Israel to Your sanctuary and accept their prayers lovingly… ” By leaving out the words “the fire offerings of Israel”, the meaning of this prayer changed. It became, “Restore the service to Your sanctuary and accept their prayer lovingly.” In other words, the emphasis was placed on worship instead of sacrifice. Similarly, references to the sacrifices in the Musaf service were restated in the past tense as a historical memory rather than as a hope for the future.The Musaf service is based on the special sacrifices that were offered on Shabbat and holidays so it is hard to avoid the subject of Korbanot, sacrifices, altogether. Instead of praying that we be given the opportunity to offer sacrifices, we ask for the temple to be restored so that we can worship God just as our ancestors worshipped God long ago. The temple, I would suggest was a metaphor, a place through which we can come closer to God through the service of the heart. We do not hope for a return to the sacrifices as much as we pray for the opportunity to worship with as much fervor and passion as our ancestors did.

Conservative Jews are not alone in their ambivalence about sacrifices. Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, the chief Rabbi of the land of Israel in the first half of the twentieth century, was a vegetarian. I have no doubt that he continued to pray for the rebuilding of the temple and the reinstitution of the Temple service but he believed that in the Messianic era, only meal offerings would be made in the Temple and there would no longer be animal sacrifices. His vision of a Messianic era of vegetarianism was based on the prophecy of Isaiah said that in the end of time, “And the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, And the leopard shall lie down with the kid; And the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; And a little child shall lead them And the cow and the bear shall feed; Their young ones shall lie down together, And the lion shall eat straw like the ox....They shall not hurt nor destroy in all My holy mountain. (Isaiah. 11:6-9)

It should be pointed out that Moses Maimonides also seemed to be somewhat circumspect about animal sacrifice. He suggests in his great work, The Guide for the Perplexed, that the sacrifices were part of an effort by the Torah to wean the Jewish people away from pagan forms of sacrifice such as animal sacrifice. We were allowed to continue offering sacrifices but only in limited ways, in particular places and at special times. While Maimonides never reveals the full implications of this statement, his statement can be taken to mean that we have grown beyond the ancient practice of animal sacrifice!

In the end, I don’t think it is necessary to change the language of the prayer book when it comes to sacrifice. Korbanot are a symbol, not a reality. Prayer is poetry and it is not necessary to read the language of prayer literally in order to find meaning in it. For me, the references to sacrifice are a powerful way to think about how we come closer to God. The Hebrew word, Korban, comes from the Hebrew root kareiv, to come close. For our ancestors, sacrifice was that which helped them to come closer to God. We speak of sacrifice not because we wish to offer them again but because we want to discover ways through worship li-kareiv, to come close to God.

Question: If a person advanced money for the care of his mother [parent], can he then say that he wants the whole sum returned, and not agree to be part of a 4 way division of the estate to the four siblings? This would effectively mean that he would not contribute at all towards the costs of the care of his mother, because he is charging his siblings for the cash he forwarded to the estate to pay for the care of his mother. Is that money he does not pay considered interest, and would it be excessive usury (25%) and not allowed? What do Jewish values say about this situation?
CLARIFICATION:
This is the fuller scenario: My mother a'h' was hospitalized and then sent to a nursing home where we supplied extra aides for the night shift to watch her. It was very costly. I suggested to my 3 siblings that we should sell my mothers house, or take out a mortgage or an equity loan or a reverse mortgage on her home to cover these costs. My brother said no, he would not do that. I pointed out that our mother had a house, social security, some other money, and a rental income from a lease on the first floor of the home, so no one should be responsible to pay from their pocket for her care because she has income and can afford it herself. He (on his own) decided to shell out the cost of her care from his own pocket, rather than take it out of the value of the property. The total bill for expenditure that he gave out from 2004 till 2008 was $300,000 for aides in the home. Now skip to the present. Mother died in 2008. It turns out that my brother had been given a power of attorney over the property, though he did not tell us this.
We want to settle the estate. We finally sold the house. He wants the whole sum of money he shelled out paid back to him, before we settle. The result would be that he would not pay his one-fourth share of the $300,000 costs ($300,000 divided by 4=$75,000). He refuses to accept anything less than the $300,000 amount because he shelled out the total amount, and now he says he is exempt from paying his share for the care of my mother. In other words, effectively, he is charging the estate $75,000 dollars for the use of his money, or a fee of one-fourth (25%). Is this legitimate per Jewish law (Halachah)?

If a person advanced money for the care of his mother [parent], can he then say that he wants the whole sum returned, and not agree to be part of a 4 way division of the estate to the four siblings? This would effectively mean that he would not contribute at all towards the costs of the care of his mother, because he is charging his siblings for the cash he forwarded to the estate to pay for the care of his mother. Is that money he does not pay considered interest, and would it be excessive usury (25%) and not allowed? What do Jewish values say about this situation?

Often, when people come to a rabbi with a “shailah,” a question, they already have some idea what they think the answer to their question should be. They are seeking the rabbi’s validation for their point of view rather than a position based on calm deliberation as well as Jewish law and ethics.

As I read your question, I sensed that you had a pretty good idea what you think should be done in this painful situation. After all, prima-facie your brother’s decision to keep a large portion of your mother’s estate seems unreasonable and unfair. He chose to spend his own money for the care of your mother rather than using her resources to provide for her in her time of need. Now, he is using his power of attorney to reimburse himself for past costs.You presume that your mother would have wanted her property equally divided among the children. You ask whether your brother’s decisions are legitimate under Jewish law and if the brothers decision not to accept part of the costs for his mother’s care as excessive usury.

There are no simple answers to the questions you are asking. I am always saddened when I find families bickering over money and estates after the death of a dear parent when they should be comforting and helping one another. An argument over money is probably the last thing your mother would have wanted for her children. I sense from your question that your brother is quite angry; it appears that he was forced to carry a significant part of the burden in caring for your mother in her final years. While it may have been his decision to use his own funds to do so, I have to wonder where the rest of the family was during this time and why there wasn’t some serious discussion and a sharing of responsibilities among all the siblings. I know from personal experience that caring for an aging parent can be an overwhelming responsibility not only financially but personally and emotionally as well. It seems that your brother’s anger is not so much about financial reimbursement as it is about his frustration as a person who felt he was abandoned by his siblings.

You state that your brother has power of attorney – this means that from a legal standpoint how the money is divided up is really up to him. Does he have a moral obligation to fulfill his mother’s wishes with her possessions? I would think so. But do we really know what your mother’s wishes were or how she wished her estate to be divided up?

In the Jewish tradition a child has an obligation to provide for his or her parents in their old age unconditionally. There are no conditions placed on how much money he or she spends or whether the other children equally share the expenses in the care of a parent. I do not know if it is fair for your brother to expect to be ‘reimbursed’ for the expenses he incurred during your mother’s hospitalization. But by the same token, I think you have a moral obligation to look at your brother’s expenses and efforts on behalf of your mother. He is certainly entitled to some type of reimbursement for these expenses.

I suspect that you have only shared part of the story with me. There are many more facets that I would need to know in order to answer your question from the perspective of Jewish ethics. It seems to me, however, that what your brother is looking for is recognition for his efforts on behalf of your mother, and possibly an apology from siblings who were more than happy to allow him to carry this burden alone. The monetary issues need to be resolved by a lawyer or an accountant. The moral and familial issues need to be resolved by sitting down together non-judgmentally and listening to one another. You need to hear your brother’s grievances and he needs to look at his own contribution to this conflict. You can walk away from one another and never speak again, but I can tell you that your life will be impoverished by such a decision. I would encourage to give your brother a full hearing and to work hard not just to resolve these issues but also any broken relationships that have led to this situation.

Question: "A man is not his crime" is a famous saying about looking beyond the criminal act to the person, to their inherent dignity, as a way to help them find hope, remorse and renewal. Is that from Talmud? A young cousin just went to prison and we are struggling to comprehend how this happened and how to rebuild.

While the saying, “A man is not his crime,” is not from Talmudic literature as far as I can tell, the underlying idea behind this expression is at the heart of the discussion of human nature, crime and punishment in rabbinic literature. On the one hand, Judaism begins with a deep and abiding belief in free human and choice, so that when a person commits a crime he must take responsibility for what he has done and bear the consequences of his actions. On the other hand, I do not believe that we can completely separate the individual from his or her crime until we are certain the person is sincere in his desire to change. One cannot say, “Well, so-and-so is a good guy except for this one horrific action.” Historical experience has taught us that human beings are complex creatures. Some Nazi war criminals were often caring husbands and fathers as well as accomplished professionals and academics and yet they committed horrific and cruel crimes against humanity. We can not dismiss their acts because of their otherwise humane nature.

By the same token the possibility of repentance always exists for an individual. Once a person has ‘paid the price’ for their wrong doings, they must also be reintegrated into society assuming there are remorseful and have made amends for their crimes. Judah ben Tabbai, one of the great sages of the Mishnah, used to offer the following advice to fellow judges: “(In the judges office), do not act the lawyer’s part; when the parties to a suit are standing before you, let them both be regarded as guilty, but when they depart from your presence, regard them both as innocent, having received the proper judgment.” (Pirke Avot 1:10) In other words, each person must bear the consequences of their actions no matter who they are. The judge must question the litigants’ motivations and presume ulterior motives until the case is resolved. Having done so and having paid the penalty, they are considered ‘innocent’ and given the opportunity to start over again.

Of course, society is not as forgiving as the Jewish tradition. Sometimes it is hard for others to let go of the pain and suffering that the guilty party has caused them. That is why punishment is not enough; the guilty party must also seek to redress the wrongs he committed particularly to the parties who where harmed. Repentance, we are taught, is made up of several parts. The guilty party must acknowledge his or her wrong and then publicly admit it. He must feel sincere remorse and seek forgiveness from the harmed parties. He must also make reparations for any monetary or physical harm he has caused. Only then can he seek forgiveness from God.

My heart goes out to you and your young cousin who is now facing the consequences of his actions. Now, more than ever, he needs your understand and help in rebuilding his life. It is your job to affirm his basic dignity as a human being but also help him come to terms with the acts of which he is guilty. Assuming that he understands and accepts his guilt, he should be given the opportunity to start over and rebuild his life. This is the real meaning of Teshuvah, repentance.

The question you have raised is an important one; as a congregational rabbi it is an issue I think about all the time. Fund raising is as old as Judaism – we find examples of it in the Torah. And acknowledging donors’ gifts go back to the period of the Second Temple. From a moral stand point showing gratitude to those who are kind enough to support a congregation makes good sense. Whenever I receive a gift I try to remember to say “Thank you.” The problem become, how far do we go in acknowledging gifts and how do we acknowledge them? Modern day synagogues have become moments to all those who have the financial means to give. What about those who can’t give but volunteer?

Giving is a necessity of congregational life, but we must beware that our giving doesn't demean the very purpose of our existence. Synagogues may be a business but they are in the business of creating Jewish souls and building a holy community for ourselves and for others. Congregational giving must reflect the loftiness of its mission. Recently I developed a system of ‘rules’ for fund raising in the synagogue. I can’t tell you that we have implemented them all but they have inspired a great deal of discussion in our synagogue:

First Commandment: Thou shalt give! Supporting a congregation is not charity any more than providing for your household is charity. Charity is what we do for others; we contribute to synagogues because it is important to us to have a religious institution to which we belong and which we can attend. Therefore, synagogue membership is an obligation for anyone who values Jewish communal religious life.

Second Commandment: Synagogue members should support their own congregation. Synagogue leaders are often frantic about finding new sources of revenue. But raising money outside the synagogue cheapens the value of the synagogue for the people who belong. Bingo, for instance, helps congregations raise money from the people who least can afford it. I am not opposed to bingo, in principle - but I am opposed to getting people outside the synagogue to support the institutions that are important to us. Rabbi Larry Kushner, in his article "The Tent Peg Business: Some Truths about Congregational Life," writes: "The way a congregation gets its money may be more important than how much it gets.”

Third Commandment: Thou shall collect congregational funds with equity. This may be the most challenging commandment of all. How do we balance the ability to contribute with the basic equality of Jewish life? In ancient times everyone was obligated to pay the half shekel; it didn't matter whether one was rich or poor. There was a minimum tax everyone had to pay. Congregations need to find a way to make sure everyone can contribute comfortably to the synagogue. That is what members of family do. Congregations need to develop a fair system of taxation.

Fourth Commandment: You shall meet your obligation; beyond that everything else is discretionary. We find two kinds of giving in the Torah: the obligatory half-shekel to the temple and terumah which was voluntary gift. When Moses set out to build the Tabernacle he invited the people to contribute to this project by saying “Let each person whose heart is so moved contribute.” This was not an obligation. Congregations need to think in terms of priorities; what are the necessary funds for maintaining the congregation and what should be considered discretionary giving?

Fifth Commandment: Fundraising shall be driven by vision, not by need. Dues should be a tax placed on every person - it's how we keep the synagogue going. Each synagogue finds its own way to spread this tax fairly among the members. Beyond dues however, there is not a synagogue in the world that does not need to do extra fundraising. This is not so much a commandment as it is logic. Congregational leaders go to their members and ask them to pay dues. One presumes that dues will cover the expenses of the congregation. How can we then go back to the same members and ask them to pay more money toward the up keeping of the congregation? For fundraising to work, then, it must be driven by something more than bottom line. Members need to feel that there is vision and purpose in giving beyond basic necessities. They should ask: what am I giving for? How will this extra money in some way make this a better congregation and a better world? A corollary of this is that gimmicks will not raise funds for a congregation. After collecting dues there is the hard work of going to members and convincing them to support activities, programs and goals that the dues cannot bear.

Sixth Commandment: Thou shalt not demand recognition. No one who contributed to the building of the Tabernacle received public recognition. There were no plaques in the Tabernacle or in the Temple. In fact, I would argue that plagues are detrimental to the wellbeing of the congregation. In his article, Rabbi Kushner writes: "If people selfishly seek their own Jewish growth (in synagogue) and do what they do because they want to, then there is no longer any need for the ritualized public displays of gratitude which threaten to suffocate virtually every arena of congregational life. Such obeisance at services and banquets, in print and on the walls, invariably degenerates into a system in which people give gifts of time, money, and skill to the congregation not for the joy of giving but for the communal recognition. If everyone is thanked, the only noteworthy events are the invariable omissions.

Seventh Commandment: There shall be no strings attached to the funds that are donated. Synagogue leaders need to think carefully about the gifts they receive. The synagogue belongs to all of us, not just to the person who gives the largest gift. That means that there should not be any conditions or demands attached to the gifts we receive. People have a right to ask that their financial resources be used in a particular area of synagogue life; they have no right to have personal conditions placed on their giving.

Eighth Commandment: Thou shalt contribute honestly. The money which comes to a synagogue must meet the highest ethical and legal standards. Buying scrip, for instance, doesn't mean that the entire amount can be taken as a tax write-off because the check was addressed to the synagogue. We, of course, don't have control over what people choose to do once they contribute to the synagogue. But I would argue that we must not be enablers either. We need to remind people that the check they wrote to the synagogue may or may not be tax deductible.

Ninth Commandment: Synagogues Boards shall conduct financial matters with transparency. Because they are dealing in public funds, a board has an obligation to make sure its dealings are not only honest but open to the community. Moses may have been the overseer of the Tabernacle but he still had an obligation to give a full accounting of every resource he received for this project.

Tenth Commandment: Volunteering is as important as giving but it doesn't pay the bills! Finally, we need to acknowledge that not everyone can afford to give as much as they would like. We need to honor those who give other resources: time, talent, and skills. Remember that the only people who are acknowledged by names in the building of the Tabernacle are Betzalel and Ohaliab, the master craftsmen. Rabbi Kushner writes: "In order to maintain their congregations, Jews must do many other things which are not inherently Jewish. These secondary acts include building, raising money, and perhaps forming a board of directors. Congregations, unfortunately, often get so caught up in doing secondary acts that they actually begin to think that the building, raising money, or the board of directors is the reason for the existence of the congregation. Their members are busy at work, but because they have forgotten why they are at work, their efforts are hollow and come to naught."

The Torah describes Shavuot (Feast of Weeks) as a holiday based on agricultural themes. How did it come to be a commemoration of Matan Torah (the giving of the Torah, Revelation)?

You are absolutely right: in order to find Z’man Matan Tora-teinu (the Season of the Giving of the Torah) in the Bible, one must engage in a little digging. The Torah refers to this holiday as Hag HaBikkurim, the Feast of the First Fruits (Numbers 28:26), Hag Hakatzir, the Feast of the Reaping (Exodus 23:16), and Hag Shavuot, the Feast of Week (Exodus 34:22). The Torah never explicitly says that the Torah was given on the sixth day of Sivan. It was the sages who named this holiday Z’man Matan Tora-teinu and came up with this connection. But the connection between the giving of the Torah and the Feast of Weeks is a natural and logical one.

It is customary, on the second night of Passover, to begin the counting of the Omer. Actually, this practice was the subject of a great deal of controversy throughout Jewish history. The Torah says, “You shall count from the day after ‘the Sabbath’ when you bring an Omer of grain as an offering, seven full weeks…” (Leviticus 23:15) The sages interpreted ‘Sabbath’ in this verse as referring to the second day of Passover. After all, a holiday is also a kind of Sabbath. We, therefore, count seven weeks starting from the eve of the second day of Passover (or the second Seder). The day following the forty nine days of counting is the Feast of Shavuot.

We learn, in the Torah, that the Israelites reached Sinai ‘on the third new moon’ after leaving the land of Egypt. That means that the counting of the Omer would have coincided, more or less, with the time when the revelation took place. It was inevitable that they would make this connection between Sinai and Shavuot. The point is that the Torah does not tell us what day of the month Shavuot falls on and what day exactly the Torah was given. The sages however ascertained the day by counting out the events that took place prior to the giving of the Torah. This discussion can be found in the Talmud, Shabbat 86b-87a. According to this passage the people arrived at Sinai on the first of Sivan, rested for a day, negotiated for a day (“We will do and we listen”) and, then, were told that they had three days to prepare themselves for the theophany. That would mean that on the sixth day of the month the revelation began; the same day as Shavuot!

There are also thematic and theological reasons for making this connection. Passover, of course, celebrates the Exodus from Egypt, and Sukkot the sojourn in the wilderness. It seemed logical that we would also have a special day on which we remember the giving of the Torah and the making of the Covenant at Mount Sinai. Since Shavuot is the third holiday in the ‘triumvirate’ of the Pilgrimage Festivals, it made sense to identify this holiday with this historical connection. In this way, all three Regalim, Pilgrimage Festivals, would have both agricultural and historical roots in the Jewish tradition. The three central themes of Jewish thought are creation, redemption and revelation. Passover is the festival of redemption, Sukkot which marks a time of thanksgiving is the feast of redemption and Shavuot becomes the holiday that celebrates revelation.

One final note: it is interesting to note that Shavuot is called the holiday of the giving (Matan) of the Torah and not the season of the receiving of the Torah. Some of the sages wondered why this was the case. Wasn’t the significant thing that the people of Israel accepted the Torah? There is a lovely Chasidic teaching in which it is said that we celebrate the giving and not the receiving of the Torah because the Torah was only given once, but we each receive it anew each and every day of our lives. However you choose to understand “revelation” – as a onetime event or a continuous event in Jewish life. We care all called on to receive the Torah and respond to its teaching each and every day of our lives.

If we have arrived in a post-racial world, why is intermarriage still apparently a big deal for many people?

By Rabbi Mark B Greenspan

The prohibition against intermarriage in Judaism has never been an issue of ‘race.’ I would suggest that it has been a strategy for passing Judaism on from generation to generation. This is best accomplished in a home where people share common values, ideals as well as history. Having said that, our attitude to intermarriage today is different than in the past and we must deal with it differently than past generations.

Judaism is often described as “a way of life.” What we mean by this expression is that Judaism is not simply a matter of beliefs or even moral values but a comprehensive way of living in the world that includes beliefs, practices, worship, ethical values, culture, language and even food. Jews also share a common history and similar hopes for the future. And while we believe that Judaism has the power to heal and teach the world, we also believe that we can only accomplish this task by maintaining our own unique way of life.

The Bible suggests that the people of Israel were to become “a nation of priests and a holy people.” The word kadosh, holy, has a connotation of being separate and standing apart from others. Just as the priests in ancient Israel were a separate group from the other tribes in ancient Israel, so Israel is envisioned as a separate people. Of course, we are a surprisingly diverse group. We are not defined by race or even by ethnicity. So what does it mean to speak about Judaism in a world where the boundaries between race and ethnicity are become less and less important? Has Judaism become irrelevant or even a somewhat primitive tribal religion?

The best way to pass on the Jewish way of life and all that it entails is from parents to children in a Jewish home and within the context of a community of shared faith and practice. The doors of that community are open to anyone who wishes to join that community and make a commitment to that way of life. But ‘shared values’ make a big difference on the impact a way of life has on others. While it is not impossible to pass Judaism on within a family in which the members do not share the same faith; it’s just a lot harder. And it is for that reason that we encourage in-marriage.

We are living at a time when the boundaries between people have become much more fluid and the choices we can make are diverse than ever before. We no longer live in a ghetto surrounded by a hostile world. We also understand that marrying out of one’s faith does not mean that one has rejected one’s faith tradition or heritage. There are many families of mixed faiths in which children are being raised as Jews (or as Christians). The important thing is that families must make choices about how they wish to raise their children and what type of home they wish to have. At a time when many people do not necessarily have a religious heritage which they have embraced, it is important for Jewish leaders to welcome all people into our community. We have a unique opportunity to share the beauty of Judaism with others. The issue of intermarriage is not racial or national or even ethnic: it is all about communicating a clear message about religious beliefs, ideals and community to one’s children. It is for that reason that we need to encourage in-marriage, or at least to encourage intermarried couples to think about what their shared values should be.

Question: Many good initiatives - like phone-free driving or diets or teen celibacy - are based on the premise of making a pledge. What does Judaism say about these types of promises and pledges, and are there "religious" implications if you breach your pledge?

The place to begin a discussion about making oaths and promises is with the fact that the holiest day of the year, Yom Kippur, begins with Kol Nidre, a statement in which we ask to be relieved of any vows or oaths we have made, or more correctly, that we are about to make in the coming year. Kol Nidre is not a prayer but a statement which is made in the presence of a beit din (Jewish court of three) in which we ask to be released from any oaths and promises. This statement is part of a complicated and troubling ceremony (how can I be relieved of oaths I haven’t yet made) but the fact that we begin the Day of Atonement by speaking of broken promises says a lot about how we feel about making pledges and promises, particularly when we do so in the name of God.

The fact that the Jewish tradition provides a way of getting out of an oath reflects the seriousness with which they considered statements. Promises once made could not be ignored. There had to be a legal means through which such a statement could be broken. Some scholars think that Kol Nidre may have been composed at a time in Jewish history when Jews were forced to make promises to other faiths that they were not prepared to keep – such as the promise to enter another religion. In such cases there was a deep sense of guilt about such promises. Even though these pledges were were made under duress, people felt the need for a ‘legal’ way of releasing themselves of such pledges.

Virtually all statements can be considered promises. In the book of Numbers, chapter 30, we find the following statement: “One must carry out anything that crosses his lips.” There are people who take this statement literally. Any statement of intent is a potential promise, so some people will preface or follow their statements by saying, “b’lee neder,” which literally means, “without an oath.” For instance, a person might say: “Let’s plan to meet tomorrow at Starbucks, b’lee neder.” This may seem a bit extreme but it reflects the idea that as Jews we take our words seriously. We should always say what we mean and mean what we say. This is especially true when the promises or pledges we make are in the name of God.

So the short answer to this question, then, is yes – there are most definitely religious implications if you break your word or breach an oath, whether it is a promise to a friend or a pledge we make to God. Of course we make promises all the time with little thought – we are therefore challenged to think carefully about our words. Sometimes making promises is helpful in terms of living up to our own expectations or the expectations that others have of us. We need to think carefully about such statements when we make them.

Question: If I develop a screenplay/script to a movie, and my friend took my script/screenplay and actually made a movie out of it, without my permission, and if he made money from the movie, what do Jewish laws say that could help me prove that I am the rightful owner of the script and should be paid by my friend?

The issue you are raising is one of ‘intellectual property.’ In American civil law, this is a serious area of concern that has its own set of rules and definitions. Under intellectual property law, “owners are granted certain exclusive rights to a variety of intangible assets, such as musical, literary, and artistic works; discoveries and inventions; and words, phrases, symbols, and designs.”

Whether or not such a concept exists in Jewish law is beyond the purview of most pulpit rabbis. Such a question should probably be addressed to a Talmudic scholar. Such questions are more likely to be addressed in a court of law rather than in the Beit Midrash.

That being said, I believe that we do have certain moral concepts in Judaism which might have some relevance in addressing such an issue. The sages speak of g’nevat hada’at, literally, misleading others or the stealing of knowledge. Rabbi Alan Yuter, a member of the Union for Traditional Judaism, writes: “While it may be legitimately argued that the Oral Torah records no such norm, avoiding purloining intellectual property may be an act of piety.” While Rabbi Yuter stops short of declaring this a law for the Jewish people, he senses that it just isn’t right.

Similarly, we find the commandment in the Torah, “You shall not steal; you shall not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another.” (Leviticus 19:11) I believe that the Torah is speaking about something more than the theft of material objects or expressing falsehoods. Intellectual property might be said to fall somewhere in between these two categories. To use someone else’s material is certainly a form of falsehood. Even in matters of Torah study, we are expected to give full credit to the person from whom we borrowed an idea; to do so is, “to bring redemption to the world.” This implies that if I borrow someone else’s teachings and quote them without giving the person full credit, I am in fact condemning the world to a state of non-redemption.

I can think of one interesting precedent for intellectual property in Jewish law. In the nineteenth century many Jewish books began with a warning to others not to republish the works within a defined period of time. Apparently the rabbis, who were unlikely to go to a civil court of law, understood that their works had some economic value and prohibited others from publishing new editions of their work.

In the end, citing chapter and verse may not be very helpful in cases of intellectual property from the vantage point of Jewish law. It seems quite clear to me, however, that stealing someone else’s intellectual property is treif. This is more a matter of common sense than halachah. From a moral and ethical point of view I believe that one can make a strong argument that using someone else’s material, particularly where there is economic gain, is just another form of theft, intellectual or otherwise.

Question: Purim (as I understand it) celebrates Jewish victory over enemies who sought to destroy us. We killed a bunch of them before they killed us. Two things: What's with the costumes? And: In this day and age where we actually have a sovereign state with an army, isn't it rather insensitive to celebrate this holiday?

You are not alone in having doubts about the celebration of Purim. In Israel, Purim is marked on two different days: regular Purim is celebrated on the 14th of Adar in places like Tel Aviv and Haifa, and Shushan Purim, celebrated in ancient walled cities, on the 15th of Adar. Those who enjoy Purim can celebrate the holiday on the 14th of Adar in Tel Aviv and then jump in their car dash off to Jerusalem to celebrate Shushan Purim in Jerusalem on the 15th of Adar. On the other hand, those who are more circumspect about this holiday can spend the 14th of Adar in Jerusalem and the 15th of Adar in Tel Aviv; they will never be in a place where Purim is taking place!

Purim is a strange holiday. Megillat Esther, the basis of this holiday, is the only book of the Bible that does not contain God’s name. It is a story containing debauchery, drunkenness, lewd behavior and hidden identities. In many ways it is both a comedy and a satire. Even the hero and heroine are a bit strange: the name, Mordechai, is derived from Marduk, the main god in the Babylonian pantheon, and Esther is connected to Ishtar, a Babylonian goddess. The final chapters of the Megillah describe a battle in which the Jewish people kill and convert their enemies. This chapter is so shocking that many editions of the Megillah do not even provide a full translation of this chapter.

So why do we celebrate Purim today? What does the militancy of this story mean for us at a time when the Jewish people have an army of its own to defend the interests of Israel? And what is the whole business of costumes and masks, carnivals and banquets, and the somewhat permissive attitude toward drinking. It seems that every culture needs to have a day when people can let loose and be lax about the standards of normal behavior. Anthropologists call such occasions, rites of reversal. According to anthropologist Philips Stevens, rites of reversal are “ceremonial situations that allow for the reversal of appropriate behaviors that typically occur at transitional times between periods of intense activity. Western tradition has had several rites of reversal for adults—New Year's Eve, Mardi Gras, May Day, Oktoberfest, the like…”

While there are some questionable elements in the story and celebration of Purim, I would suggest that we are not meant to take this holiday or ourselves too seriously. Purim offers us an opportunity to laugh at ourselves and at our deepest fears. In a time of Jewish autonomy, we still need to acknowledge the existence of hatred and intolerance in the world. Purim suggests that we can do so by laughing at it. The Talmud says: “When we enter the month of Adar we increase merrymaking.” Rather than focusing on violence and drunkenness, we focus on bringing joy to others and helping the needy in our community.

There is a profound side to Purim as well. The absence of God in the Megillah does not mean that God is totally absent from this story. The people of Shushan are saved from annihilation through a series of coincidences that take place. When Mordechai asks Esther to go to the king and speak out for her people, he says, “Do not imagine that you of all the Jews will escape with your life…and who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just this crisis.” Mordechai seems to suggest that Esther’s rise to power was not a coincidence; it was a product of the hidden hand of God in her life. Esther’s name, it has been suggested, comes from the Hebrew root nistar, hidden. She is the hidden presence of God in the world. Masks and costumes, then, can be seen as an expression of the hidden face of God in the world.

I should add a word about Haman. According to the Megillah, Haman is a descendent of Amalek, the same tribe the cruelly attacked the people of Israel shortly after they left Egypt. The Torah tells us that the Amalekites attacked the weakest element of the nation in a murderous desire to destroy the Israelites. Amalek would emerge again in the time of King Saul and again in the Mordechai and Esther. It represents the face of hatred which slanders and plots against Israel. Is Amalek gone from the world? I think not. We have seen the face of Amalek in Hitler and Stalin in our own day. We have seen the face of Haman in all those who have promoted and practiced genocide against other nations of the world as well. Purim suggests that it is not enough to turn the other cheek in the face of such hatred – we must sometimes wage war against it. This is the darker side of Purim.

It has been said that Judaism encompasses the full gamut of human emotions. The holiday cycle reminds us that nothing is foreign or strange to God. Purim suggests that sometimes we can even serve God through silliness and merriment.We all wear masks – even God. Purim is simply the one time of year that we acknowledge that we are wearing them!!

Question: I work for a web marketing company and I know that they work with casinos, which I don't love, but can live with. However, I just learned that they have taken on a porn site as a client. My job is to build links and it doesn't require me viewing the material. But is it forbidden for me to in any way aid this industry? Or is it just part of my job?

We learn in the Torah, “Don’t stand idly by the blood of one’s brother.” (Leviticus 19:16) We have a responsibility to keep ourselves and others both safe and free of immoral actions. If something is wrong (or dangerous), than it is wrong (and dangerous) whether one commits the act oneself or one stands by allowing others to commit this act. Enabling others to commit immoral acts falls somewhere between committing the act and turning a blind eye to it.. Personally, I don’t believe that one can make a distinction between engaging in immoral behavior oneself and enabling others to do so from a Jewish point of view.

We learn this lesson from Biblical history. One of the most infamous characters in the Bible was Jeroboam. He was the first leader of the Northern Kingdom of Israel after the ten northern tribes broke ranks with Jerusalem. Although it was predicted by a prophet of God that Jeroboam would lead this rebellion, he was never criticized for establishing a renegade kingdom opposed to the Davidic monarchy. Yet Jeroboam was later criticized for encouraging his countrymen to worship a calf at temples in Beth El and in Dan. Jeroboam did this for purely pragmatic reason – he wanted to discourage his people from returning to Jerusalem to worship God once the northern kingdom separated from Judah. Later Jeroboam was condemned as a mah’tee, as one who caused others to sin.

In the book of Leviticus we are commanded: “Do not place a stumbling block before the blind.” (Leviticus 19:14) The Sages interpreted this expression in a non-literal sense; it applies not only to those who are physically blind but those who are blind to the dangers before them. A Midrashic work called the Sifre Leviticus explains: "Thou shall not put a stumbling block before the blind" Not just the physically blind, but one who is "blind" in a particular matter. Thus, suppose such a one came to you and asked, "Is the daughter of So-and-so fit to marry into a priestly family?" Do not say to him, "She is fit," if in fact she is disqualified. If a man seeks your counsel, do not give him counsel that is not right for him. Do not say to him, "Leave early in the morning," so that brigands will rob him. Do not say to him, "Leave at noon," so that the sun will strike him. Do not say to him, "Sell your field and buy a donkey," so that you may circumvent him and take the field away from him. If you protest, "But it is sensible counsel I am giving him," remember that the matter is turned over to a man's heart…” No matter how sensible one’s advice or assistance me be, if it leads the person to sin or misery, one is as guilty as the one who actually performed the act.

The bigger question is how we view pornography. What’s so bad about pornography? Isn’t it a victimless crime? After all, one might argue that the people who allow themselves to be recorded are doing so freely and the person who chooses to look at such material does so of his or her own free will. I believe that this is untrue. First, pornography demeans the human being and turns our bodies into objects rather than miracle created in the image of God. At the heart of Judaism is the mandate to treat other people, body and soul, with dignity (kavod) and respect. Second, pornography is hardly victimless, either from the standpoint of those who create it or those who become viewers of it. Pornography, for some, is no less addictive and destructive to human life than drugs or alcohol. And one might also argue that there is connection between pornography, prostitution and pedophilia, and other ills of society; these are crimes which do victimize people in our society.

We might argue about how we define pornography but I think you are correct to think twice about supporting an industry which enables others to participate in such activities. While one might argue that gambling in moderation is acceptable (another issue we may chose to discuss at another time) even a little pornography is morally indefensible.

Question: When was the story of the miracle of the oil to light the lamp first told? Is it true that the story was only first told years later by the rabbis of the time so as to create a role for G-d in the Chanukah story?

Thank you for your question and happy Chanukah!The first time we find the ‘traditional story’ of Chanukah is in the Talmud which was edited approximately six to seven hundred years after the Maccabean revolt. The story of the oil appears as an afterthought; the Talmud discusses the proper way to light the Chanukah candles and parenthetically asks, Mai Chaunkah, “What is (the reason) for Chanukah? (See the Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 21a)

In earlier sources on the origins of Chanukah, such as the Book of Maccabees, there is no mention of the oil that burned for eight days. Rather, Chanukah is presented as a celebration of the Maccabean victory and a commemoration of the rededication of the Temple. The word, Chanukah, means dedication. Ironically Jews do not consider this book part of our sacred texts even though it was most likely written by Jews sometime between the completion of the Hebrew Bible and the beginning of Christianity. The Book of Maccabees is part of the Apocrypha, a set of books that are considered sacred by Catholics.

So why was this feast celebrated for eight days? According to Maccabees,“They (the Maccabees)celebrated it for eight days with rejoicing in the manner of Sukkot, mindful of how but a little while before during the festival of Sukkot they had been wandering about like while beasts in the mountains and caves.” According to this book, Chanukah is a belated celebration of the holiday of Sukkot. It is even more surprising that the one passage in our liturgy about Chanukah, the Al Ha-nissim prayer, never mentions the oil that burned for eight days. It says that the miracle of Chanukah was the victory of the few against the many: “In the days of Mattathias, son of Yohanan the Hasmonean kohen gadol, and in the days of his sons, a cruel power rose against Your people Israel demanding that they abandon your Torah and violate Your Mitzvot. You, in great mercy, stood by Your people in time of trouble. You defended them, and avenged their wrongs. You delivered the strong into the hands of the weak, the many into the hands of the few, the corrupt into the hands of the pure in heart, the guilty into the hands of the innocent….”

So what can we conclude from these sources? First, the fact that the story of the oil that burned for eight days wasn’t recorded until the fifth or sixth century does not mean that it was not a more ancient tradition. We cannot be certain when this story originated or by whom. What is clear from this story is that the sages wished to make Chanukah more of a sacred occasion and less of a victory against our oppressors. Elias Bickerman, a leading Jewish historian, writes:“Among the Greeks it was usual for a generation, when it regarded an event in its own history as important, to believe that it should be commemorated for all time.” Chanukah then was a victory against Hellenism but it was influenced by Hellenistic practices.The sages were not fond of the Maccabees: in the years to come they would become terribly assimilated, they usurped the monarchy which rightfully belonged to the Davidic household and they were violent. In the first century before the Common Era, they were responsible for inviting the Romans into Jerusalem which ultimately led to the destruction of the Temple. Still, the people of Israel seemed to have loved this holiday and so the sages found a way to make it into a theocentric holiday rather than a war victory.

I believe that God is present in the story of Chanukah though we may not all agree how. For some, God is present in the miracle; for others, in the miraculous victory of the Maccabees. And for others, God is present in the bravery and audacity of the Maccabees who believed that Judaism was worthy saving. In some ways we are still fighting this battle, sometimes with more success and sometimes with less success. Chanukah has become a celebration of Jewish continuity which is no less miraculous to day than it was two thousand years ago.

So did the oil which the Maccabees poured into the Menorah really burn for eight days? We may never know. But the true miracle was that the Maccabees and their followers did not give up hope in their survival and were prepared to light the Menorah in the first place!

Question: Some members of Temple Beth Ahm Yisrael in Springfield, N.J., are not happy that their former synagogue building was sold to the Islamic Center of Union County. Are there any reasons a former Jewish house of worship shouldn't be turned into a different religion's house of worship, or for that matter, anything else?

Some members of Temple Beth Ahm Yisrael in Springfield, N.J., are not happy that their former synagogue building was sold to the Islamic Center of Union County. Are there any reasons a former Jewish house of worship shouldn't be turned into a different religion's house of worship, or for that matter, anything else?

Rabbi Mark Greenspan:

Let me begin by saying that I understand your sadness and ambivalence about turning a beloved synagogue into a house of worship for another faith. For the members of your community, this decision must be disconcerting, to say the least. We associate our synagogue with sacred moments and special occasions in our lives. We often describe the synagogue as our ‘home’ and the congregation, as an extension of our family. To sell a synagogue building is a terrible loss or can even feel like a betrayal to those people who valued and cherished this sacred space and worshipped there for many years.

That said, I would like to address the larger question that you are raising. Can a Jewish house of worship be sold and turned into a different religion’s house of worship? This is not a new question; it is discussed at length in the Talmud, the medieval codes of Jewish Law and it has been addressed by contemporary Jewish scholars. In the Mishnah, the first code of Jewish law we read: “The trustees of the community who sell a courtyard (used for sacred gatherings) can only buy with those funds a synagogue. If they sell a synagogue, they must buy an ark. If they sell an ark they must buy the dressings for the Torah. If they sell the dressings for the Torah, they must buy sacred books. If they sell sacred books they must buy a Torah Scroll…” (Megillah 3:1) Nothing is said in this passage about what sacred space is being used for suggesting that the only question is whether it is being sold, not what purpose the space will be used for.

We can learn two important facts from the Mishnah: first, a synagogue can be sold for other purposes; second, once it is sold, the building loses its sanctity and the sanctity is transferred to the money which should then be used either for the same or a higher level of sanctity. Unlike a Torah scroll or an ark, a building is not inherently holy. Therefore it can be used for other purposes and even for another religion. In a 1997 Rabbi Kassel Abelson, chairman of the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards of the Conservative Movement, confirmed an earlier position of the law committee from 1959, stating: “In regard to the sale of a synagogue to a church, when the sacred symbols have been removed from a synagogue building no longer in use, and when the congregation has already moved to its new quarters, the congregation is justified in selling the old building. It need not be sold indirectly, and it may be sold to a church.”

Having shared this perspective with you, I would suggest that there are other issues at stake here. First, the Rabbi of a congregation is the mara d’Atra, the authority in all matters of Jewish law in his community. This question should not be discussed in a vacuum but should be addressed to the rabbi of the congregation, and possibly to the board of the synagogue. I am not certain it is appropriate to seek other opinions in such communal matters rather than turning to one’s own leaders. Second, I find it just a bit disturbing that you have raised the issue of the group’s religious background in your question. It should not matter whether the group that is purchasing the house of worship is Christian, Moslem or Buddhist.

For what can the funds from such a sale be used? In his responsa on this question, Rabbi David Fine writes: “While holiness can depart from something if that thing is sold, like a synagogue building, the holiness does not cease to exist. Rather, it transfers itself into the funds into which the asset of the synagogue was “converted.” The transference of the essence of a thing into its monetary equivalent is a concept that is found throughout Jewish law.” (On the Sale of Holy Property OH 153:2.2005a Committee on Jewish Laws and Standards) This money can be used for communal religious purposes, but the Talmud also suggests that such money can be used for other mitzvot such as Pidyon Shevuyim, redeeming captive Jews.

There are ample precedents for this practice. On the Lower East Side of New York there are many synagogues that began as churches and were converted into orthodox synagogues when Jews became the majority population in synagogues. In recent years, with less Jews living in this New York community, these synagogues have, in some cases, become churches once again. Personally, there is something comforting about knowing that a sacred space remains sacred even if it is sacred to another faith.

So the short answer to your question is there is no reason a synagogue cannot be sold and used for a house of worship. Opportunities should be provided, however, for members of the congregation to mourn this loss and celebrate the memories that are left behind in this building.

Question: The phrase "Kol Yisrael arevim zeh la-zeh" means "all Jews (or all the people of Israel) are responsible for one another." What is the best way to interpret this phrase today, that we are all responsible for the world's Jews, or that we are responsible for everyone in the world?

The phrase "Kol Yisrael arevim zeh la-zeh" means "all Jews (or all the people of Israel) are responsible for one another." What is the best way to interpret this phrase today, that we are all responsible for the world's Jews, or that we are responsible for everyone in the world?

Rabbi Mark Greenspan

Thank you for your question. I can’t think of a more important question for contemporary Jews to think about: What is our responsibility to the Jewish people and to the larger world, and what is the relationship of these two sometimes conflicting sets of responsibilities? Anyone with a conscience must wrestle with this question on a daily basis, constantly weighing our place in the world and our responsibility for our own people.

This is not a new question. We find the following discussion in the Talmud: “Whosoever has the capacity to protest to prevent his household from committing a crime and does not do so is accountable for the sins of his household; if he could do so for his fellow citizens, he is accountable for the crimes of his fellow citizens; if the whole world, he is accountable for the whole world.” (Shabbat 54b) This statement suggests that from the perspective of the sages, responsibility is not either/or but and/also. If we have the ability to make a difference in our own family or community then we must do so. And if we can better the world in some way we can not turn our backs on others.

Are there priorities in making choices about who we choose to help and when to help others? I believe that the expression, Kol Yisrael arevim zeh lazeh applies specifically to the Jewish people but that does not mean we do not have a sacred responsibility to the larger world as well. One might think of our social responsibilities as a series of concentric circles, beginning with oneself (Hillel, “If I am not for myself who will be for me,”), continuing with family, one’s community, the Jewish people and, then, the larger world. We are taught in the Shulchan Aruch, the authoritative code of Jewish law from the sixteenth century: “The poor of one’s city take precedence over the poor of another city. The needy of Israel receive priority over the poor of the Diaspora. Obligations to local resident poor precede those owed to transient poor who have just come into one’s city. One’s impoverished family members come before another poor person. Parents have priority over children (who can support themselves.) One’s self comes before anyone else.” (Yoreh Deah 251:3)

Helping a fellow Jew is extremely important because we have a moral and social responsibility as members of an extended family and a historic community. To quote the old adage, “Charity begins at home?’ If Jews do not support the land of Israel, for instance, who will? While there are many food pantries, we have a responsibility to make sure that there is a place that provides kosher food for those who want it. But we should not forget that we are part of a larger community, ‘the family of humankind.’ We live in a global village and cannot ignore the suffering of others and the needs of the world. In ways that were inconceivable for our ancestors, we are aware of what is happening in the far reaches of our planet. As a result, our responsibilities to our fellow human beings continue to grow. The actions of others have global implications and our lives touch people around the world. The sages understood that knowledge implies responsibility: when we see someone in need, no matter who it is, we cannot remain indifferent. “Don’t stand idly by the blood of your fellow man,” applies equally to Jews and non-Jews.

The specific expression that you have asked about does apply to the Jewish people. But it is only a small part of the bigger question of our responsibilities to the world around us. We have a glorious responsibility, litaken et haolam, to repair the world, and to make the world into a place of both justice and compassion.

First, I would like to offer your grandfather a hearty mazal tov on celebrating this momentous occasion in his life. A second Bar Mitzvah is usually marked when a person reaches the age of 83. There are no specific rules or traditions about celebrating a ‘second Bar Mitzvah,’ just as there are no specific rules about becoming a Bar Mitzvah. Bar Mitzvah is not a ceremony (and it’s certainly not a verb as in ‘becoming Bar Mitzvahed’). Rather Bar Mitzvah is a statement of person status. One becomes a Bar Mitzvah or a Bat Mitzvah; one doesn’t have a Bar/Bat Mitzvah. In Pirke Avot, a second century collection of rabbinic aphorisms and wisdom, we learn about the various stages of life in a statement attributed to Rabbi Yehudah ben Tema: “Five is the age for the study of scripture, ten for the study of Mishnah and thirteen (l’mitzvot) for the fulfillment of the commandments…” (Avot 5:24) There is virtually no discussion in rabbinic literature about what one is supposed to do upon reaching the age of thirteen. One simply becomes responsible for the fulfillment of the commandments. In fact the only ritual of any sort is the responsibility of the parents and not the young person. They are supposed to recite a blessing the first time the new Bar Mitzvah is called to the Torah in which they say, “Blessed is the One who has exempted me from the sin of this (young) person.” Whether or not one is called to the Torah, however, one becomes a Bar Mitzvah by virtue of having reached one’s thirteenth birthday.

I would put the celebration of a second Bar Mitzvah in the realm of custom rather than Jewish law. In the Book of Psalms we learn that, ‘The days of our years are threescore and ten, or even by reason of strength, fourscore…” (Psalm 90) Based on the significance of seventy as the normal length of a human life, the custom arose of marking one’s second Bar Mitzvah thirteen years later at age 83. While it is not necessary or required to do so (any more than it is required to have a big party at age 13), it is certainly appropriate to mark special milestones in one’s life in spiritual ways. A second Bar Mitzvah is an opportunity to give thanks for having reached a significant age in relative health and wellbeing. It can be celebrated in many ways but it usually involves being called to the Torah for an Aliyah and reciting the Haftorah, or the prophetic portion, for that day. It is also an opportunity for family to come together around abeloved octogenarian, and to mark this moment with gratitude and rejoicing. It is also a chance for a family elder to make a statement to children and grandchildren about the importance of Judaism in their lives.

Question: I sometimes feel disrespected by my bosses, but am hesitant to defend myself. What does Jewish law say about how employers should treat employees? Are there a set of rules that one should follow?

I’m so sorry that you are facing a painful situation with a difficult employer. It seems to me that the bigger issue here is not how employers should treat employees but how human beings should treat one another. Judaism begins with the premise that all human beings are created b’tzelem elohim, in the image of God, and, therefore, should treat one another with respect and dignity.

Of course, being treated with dignity does not imply that all people have the same social status or position in the work place. Some people give orders and others must follow. A good employer not only manages his business but sets an example through his or her own behavior. Tensions inevitably arise because some people have more authority than others. Aware of the possibility of abuse, halachah – Jewish law - seeks to redress these differences by providing protection and certain rights for the worker. For instance, a boss is not allowed to delay payment for services rendered by an employee. Withholding wages was considered not only a social misdemeanor but a sin against God. Employers also have certain social responsibilities to their workers; he or she must safeguard their safety and provide a wholesome atmosphere in which to work. Similarly, an employer cannot force his employees to take on responsibilities such as coming to work earlier than similar workers in the local community.

The former chief rabbi of Israel, HaRav Uziel understood that responsibilities in the work place are mutual. He writes: Both employer and worker require each other. The worker labors for his own self-interest than for the benefit of his employer. The law, therefore, does not place any specific responsibility on the latter for the worker’s welfare or make him liable for injuries suffered (except the responsibility placed on him by custom). At the same time, however, the Torah obligates him to make every effort to protect his worker from injury; failure to do so make him liable to the moral crime of, “You shall not spill blood in your house.” I suspect that American law would go farther than Jewish law in this regard.

In the Mishnah, the first codification of the Oral Law, we learn of the case of an employee who is hired to perform a task but dismissed when his employer finds that he can hire other workers for less money. While the employee has no legal recourse in such cases, the Mishnah says ‘he can hold a grudge’ and publicly complain about the improper treatment by his former employer. This is no small matter – reputation can go a long way in effecting the success or failure of a business.

In the end, all we can say is there is a fundamental moral issue here but nothing in Jewish law that can protect the worker. The best recourse might be to initiate an honest and open dialogue with ones’ employers. And if they do not recognize the destructiveness of their behavior than the best decision might be to find a better place to work!!

Is it true that music sung for Shabbat services should not be sung for a concert?

Mark Greenspan

Liturgical music is often sung in concerts by musicians and cantors of all Jewish denominations. This would include music associated with the Shabbat and holiday services. The only limitation on the performance of such music would be the recitation of berakhot, or blessings.

A berakhah is a special type of prayer. Generally these statements either open or close with the words, Barukh atta Adonai…, “Praised are you, Lord…” There are berahkot for all types of occasions in Jewish life: before and after eating food, when performing a Jewish ritual (such as lighting the Sabbath candles), or in the context of liturgy when reciting the daily services. There is even a berakhah when seeing a rainbow or upon exiting a bathroom. From a Jewish perspective, these are all moments when we can acknowledge the presence of God in our lives.

Conservative and Orthodox Jews feel that because of their importance, a berakhah should only be recited when performing a ritually required act or when it is appropriately recited in the context of either life experiences or prayer. To recite the berakhah frivolously is similar to “taking God’s name in vain.” If the berakhah is being recited outside of this context, then, we do not say these words. The name of God, Adonai, might be replaced by the word, hashem (literally, the name), so that the statement is not technically a berakhah. A berakhah by definition must contain the name of God. A berakhah that is recited frivolously or inappropriately is called a berakhah livatalah, an unnecessary blessing. For instance one would not say the blessing for eating bread Baruch atta ________elohaynu melech ha-olam hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz, “Praised are you Adonai our God sovereign of the universe who brings forth bread from the earth,” if one wasn’t going to eat a piece of bread. Instead, if one wished to make reference to the wording of the blessing one might say, “Praised are you hashem, our God….”

Often in the context of concerts and other nonreligious musical events, the performer will sing the liturgical piece but change the language of the blessing to make it clear that this is not a religious recitation.

Question: People across the country are up in arms about the proposed Islamic community center near Ground Zero. The Jewish community, too, seems divided. What sort of Jewish values & teachings should we take into account when determining where we stand on the issue?

One of Judaism’s great ages, Hillel, once taught his students, “Be a disciple of Aaron: love peace and pursue peace, love your fellow creature and bring them closer to the study of Torah.” (Pirke Avot 1:12) Aaron was Israel’s first religious leader following the Exodus and the brother of Moses. He was a beloved leader because he went out of his way to make peace between conflicting parties. For me that is what religion should be about. Religion can be a powerful instrument for promoting peace in the world. Unfortunately, this is not always the case. Religion is often a source of conflict and animosity, even among co-religionists. We see the divisiveness of religious conflict in the recent discussion over the Islamic Center in lower Manhattan

The issues and values involved in the question of an Islamic Center in Lower Manhattan are more ‘American’ than ‘Jewish.’ One of the blessings of America is that our constitution guarantees certain ‘inalienable’ rights to all citizens and our government has a responsibility to protect those rights for people and groups without exception. One of those rights is the freedom to worship as we wish, when we wish and wherever we wish. Of course, that right is not unconditional. There are times when the government must step forward to protect either the individual or the greater good. For instance, if a cult practiced child sacrifice or religious group encouraged the abuse of others, the government would have every right to protect the individual over the rights of the group.

The debate over the building of an Islamic Center near Ground Zero has challenged our understanding of what ‘freedom of religion’ means. On the one hand, we believe in freedom of religion; people should be allowed to establish a place of worship wherever they wish. On the other hand Americans are understandably sensitive to having a mosque so close to a site which was destroyed in the name of Islam. Even if the people who gather in the Islamic Center were not personally responsible for the acts of terror which brought down the World Trade Center, the presence of the center so close to the World Trade Center is a painful reminder to the families of the survivors and those who were present in downtown New York of what happened on September 11th nine years ago.

We might compare the decision to build the Islamic Center close to Ground Zero to the decision to place a Carmelite Convent next to Auschwitz a number of years ago. The nuns had every right to build their convent wherever they wanted. But Jews were understandably offended by the decision to place a Christian center so close to a place of Jewish martyrdom. Debating this question, then, I feel a little like the rabbi in Fiddler on the Roof. When confronted with a disagreement between two townspeople, the Rabbi said, “You’re right,” and “You’re right.” Freedom of religion should be accorded unconditionally (within the limits of reason and morality) but religious groups should also be sensitive to the needs of the larger society in which they live in making decisions that affect the community.

So what values should influence the decision to build or not build an Islamic Center? I believe that the prevailing value in such a discussion should be sechel or common sense. Sechel is sometimes referred to as the fifth section of the Shulchan Aruch, the great code of Jewish Law. Actually, there are only four sections in this code of law, but rabbis have long understood that in deciding matters of law, we must look not only at the letter of the law but the larger issues of society and morality. Moslems have every right to build a community center. Our government guarantees freedom of religion for all groups, even (and especially) those groups of which we are not necessary fond. But communities should use common sense in deciding how to express their religious and communal values publicly. Religion should not cause pain to others.

Having said that it would make good sense for members of the Islamic community to rethink the location of the Center, I should add that I am not at all comfortable with the sentiments of many of the opponents of the Islamic Center in Lower Manhattan. What is really motivating their opposition? To what extent are they concerned about the feelings of families who lost loved ones and to what extent is this simply prejudice against the Islamic religion? Too many people are quick to equate religious extremism with the basic values of Islam. It wasn’t so many years ago that a horrific act of terror took place in Oklahoma City, killing 168 adults and children, and injuring almost seven hundred more. That act of terror was carried out by two Christian men. Yet no one suggested that a church should not be built within close proximity of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building.

In the Jewish tradition we have a principle: dina d’malkhulta dina, “The law of the land is the binding law.” (Talmud, Nedarim 28a) The American constitution either applies to everyone and in all situations or it applies to no one. The principle of “dina d’malkhulta dina” cannot be applied only when it is convenient or to groups we favor. Some people may not be happy about the decision to build an Islamic Center, but the members of the Islamic have a right to build this center. On the other hand, we have a right to expect transparency, honesty, sensitivity to the community and commitment to the principles of American society in the way this center is governed and founded.

I wonder, then, whether the present conflict over the Islamic Center doesn’t represent a “teachable moment.” It is an opportunity for people of different faiths and cultures to sit down and better understand one another. American society needs a Hillel today; someone who can help us better understand our differences and seek a deeper appreciation of one another.

What is Judaism's view on the current same-gender marriage debate? Is Judaism completely against homosexual relationships? Is it for only civil unions? Is it for complete marriage?

The Jewish tradition has a long history of wrestling with questions of how we define love, family and sexuality. It is impossible to offer a single monolithic answer to the question of same-gender marriage. Jewish scholars are deeply divided on this question.We find, for instance, that the Bible defined sexual relationship between two men as a to’eivah, abhorrence: “Do not lie with a male as one would lie with a woman: it is an abhorrence.” (Leviticus 23:22) This verse, however, is speaking about the act of sex and not necessarily a relationship between two men. (It is interesting to note that the Bible and later Jewish literature never even acknowledged the possibility of a homosexual relationship between two women.)

Bible scholars continue to debate the reason for this prohibition. Some have suggested that the biblical prohibition had more to do with pagan religious practices than it did with a loving relationship between two consenting people. Others have argued that the prohibition had something to do with the mandate for procreation – the Bible frowned on any relationship that could not produce children. However one chooses to understand this biblical verse, it seems clear that the Bible does not acknowledge the existence of same-gender marriage or relationships.

Since the 1980s there has been a considerable amount of discussion about homosexuality in the Conservative Movement. Our growing understanding of the human nature has led many people to a deeper understanding of what it means to be a homosexuality. “Sin” can only be used to define acts over which one has volition. If some human beings are ‘hard wired’ to same-sex attraction, then we must reassess how we understand such relations. Homosexuality is not a choice – it is who one is. This question is further complicated by the fact that homosexuality exists on a continuum – so we can not simply speak about people being gay or straight. In addition, sex is only part of sexuality (albeit an important part).There is more to relationships than prohibiting or permitting sexual relations.

Initially, Conservative Judaism addressed this issue institutionally by trying to encouraging congregations to be more welcoming to gay and lesbian congregants, without addressing the larger issues raised by Jewish law. In the past decade, this issue came to a head with a serious discussion of legal ramifications of homosexuality. Can Conservative rabbis perform same-sex marriages? Should people who are openly gay be admitted to Conservative rabbinical schools? Conservative Judaism is a pluralistic movement; as a result there is more than one position on these questions which has been affirmed by the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards.Some rabbis argued that while there are limits with regard to certain sexual acts based on the statement in Leviticus, accepting homosexuality in light of our changing understanding of human nature is a mandate based on the concept of kavod haberiot, showing respect for the diversity and dignity of all human beings. Others argued that this definition of the biblical prohibition was too limited: whatever the reason for the biblical law, the Bible was unequivocal in its prohibition of homosexual relations. While this second position argued for sympathy and acceptance, it was argued that it is beyond the prevue of Jewish law to condone homosexual marriage or openly gay rabbis.

If all this seems very confusing, you are right – it is! If nothing else, Conservative Judaism tries to be intellectually and religiously honest in addressing such issues and honoring our differences. Some issues are not black and white. I think it is fair to say that all Conservative Synagogues are open and welcoming no matter a person’s sexuality. As a movement, we are learning and growing in addressing what is for many a new question. While some rabbis feel that it is permissible to perform same-sex unions, others feel bound by Jewish law not to do so. The choice of whether we perform such marriages is not determined by rabbinic attitudes toward homosexuality but by the strictures of Jewish law. A same-sex couple will be welcomed into most of our congregations and embraced not on their sexuality but on their desire to be involved in Jewish life. Of course, the ability to perform same-sex marriages will also be determined by state law – we are bound to follow the laws of the region in which we live.

Conservative Judaism does not have an official position on civil unions: this is a question of American law. I believe most Conservative rabbis would argue that this is a question of civil rights and that we have an obligation to allow people in the public sector to make their own choices. They would, then, honor civil unions even if they could not perform a religious ceremony for the couple.

Question: I'm going into the Marines, but I also want to keep Shabbat. How can I do that? What can and can't I do regarding Shabbat pertaining to being a Marine, if I am based in the USA, as well as if I get shipped overseas?

I'm going into the Marines, but I also want to keep Shabbat. How can I do that? What can and can't I do regarding Shabbat pertaining to being a Marine, if I am based in the USA, as well as if I get shipped overseas?

Let me begin for commending you for your courageous and selfless decision to join the military. In synagogue, each Shabbat, we recite a prayer for the welfare of our country and the safety of those who protect and defend our freedoms. America is an extraordinary nation and, as Jews, we are blessed to share in the opportunities that this country has given us. Praying for our country, however, is not enough. If we believe in the values and ideals of our constitution, then we must be willing to fight for them and protect them within our own borders and oversea.

That said, I must begin by saying that there are unique challenges for an observant Jew in the military – whether one is serving here in America or in Israel. In order to serve in the military, one must be prepared to relinquish some of the comforts and opportunities that civilians take for granted. In a sense, one is serving a greater value – the welfare of one’s country and one’s fellow citizens. And that means that sometimes the ritual observances of Judaism must be adapted to the greater needs of the military and society.

I remember a story that my colleague, Rabbi Danny Gordis, tells. Rabbi Gordis and his family moved to Israel a number of years ago. When it came time for his daughter to enter the Israeli army, he and his wife were understandably nervous about what this would mean for her as an observant girl. A meeting was held by the military for parents of observant children. After speaking about their experience, three observant Jewish girls who were in the army invited the audience to ask questions. One father stood up and asked in an accusing tone: “Does being in the army mean that my daughter won’t be able to observe Shabbat?” One of the observant soldiers stepped forward and said: “There are times when they will have to serve our country in the military on the Sabbath – do you think our enemies take the Sabbath off?”

When deployed overseas, your first responsibility is to serve your country and protect your fellow soldiers. There will be opportunities for you to celebrate the Sabbath and holidays but first and foremost this is your responsibility: to protect and defend. This becomes a matter of Pikuah Nefesh, the protection of life, which takes precedence over all else in Judaism. Your commanding officer and the local chaplain will do everything possible to help you observe the traditions of Judaism. But it is unlikely that you will be able to strictly observe the Sabbath, any more than an Israeli soldier can observe the Sabbath when he or she is called to service in times of crisis. It is possible to arrange for Kosher food and the military is sensitive to the importance of Jewish holy days. By the way, I should mention that whether or not you have a Jewish chaplain on your base, I think you will find that they will be helpful in helping you maintain your Jewish identity while you are in the military.

Similarly, while serving in the military state side, I suspect you will find that you do not always have control of what days you are ‘on’ and ‘off.’ Depending where you are located you might find that there are religious services for Jewish soldiers or a local synagogue that will be glad to welcome you. Again, it is important to speak to your commanding officer and the local chaplain about such matters – they will be your best advocates.

Question: How can I politely, yet firmly, explain to Christians that their faith does not supercede mine; the Hebrew Bible is not merely the "Old Testament" and that Jews are not simply Christians without Jesus?
I am concerned with Derekh Eretz (proper behavior), but also with clearly stating the validity of my views and beliefs.

There is no easy way to enter into a discussion with someone who questions the validity of your faith and suggests that the New Testament superseded the Hebrew Bible as a source of faith. In such a discussion, you will often find that the other person may know the Bible a lot better than you (by the way, we read the Bible in very different ways and have a vast literature beyond the Bible that we consider sacred that Christians don’t accept). And second, the person with whom you are having this discussion is not likely to listen to a point of view different from his or her own. Besides, it seems to me that there is a lack of derech eretz in telling someone else why their beliefs are wrong; they should not do this and neither should we. Rather than trying to refute their point of view, then, I believe it is easier to respect the other person by listening to what they have to say, but making it clear that, personally, you are proud to be a Jew and that Judaism is a unique and different faith.

There is a good chance that the person with whom you are speaking knows a lot of Bible but very little about Judaism and it might be helpful to explain some of the fundamentals of Judaism to him or her. You might begin by telling them that we do not refer to the Bible as the Old Testament but rather as the Tanach, or Hebrew Scripture. From our perspective, there is only one testament, based on God’s covenant with our father, Abraham, and confirmed by the entire people of Israel at Mount Sinai. Nothing in our Bible suggests that Israel’s covenant is no longer valid and binding. While they might quote chapter and verse from the “Old Testament” to prove otherwise, their interpretation is often based on reading backwards from the New Testament into the Hebrew Bible rather than the other way around. That is, the New Testament is not the fulfillment of the Hebrew Bible but one particular read of our Bible which is not accepted by most Jews. If they continue to insist on the validity of their beliefs, you might simply remind them that Jesus was born as a Jew, lived as a Jew and died as a Jew – and if it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for you too!

The bottom line is that you don’t have to prove your beliefs or values to anyone. Besides, for us as Jews religion is measured not by faith but by deeds. A person is judged not based on what he or she believes but how he or she acts – and that applies equally to Jews and non-Jews alike. We believe that the righteous of all nations ‘have a share in the world to come.’ By the way, this is a fundamental issue about which Jews and Christians disagree: which is more essential - faith or deeds? You might also remind the person that from the perspective of the Hebrew Bible all human beings are created in the image of God no matter what faith they happen to follow.

It might also be helpful to explain to your friend why Judaism is meaningful to you. I have always found the following adaptation of Edmond Fleg’s essay, “Why I am a Jew” to be especially meaningful in articulating what it is that makes Judaism so special:

I am a Jew because the faith of Israel demands of me no abdication of the mind.
I am a Jew because the faith of Israel requires of me all the devotion of my heart.
I am a Jew because in every place where suffering weeps, the Jew weeps.
I am a Jew because at every time when despair cries out, the Jew hopes.
I am a Jew because the word of Israel is the oldest and the newest.
I am a Jew because the promise of Israel is the universal promise.
I am a Jew because, for Israel, the world is not yet completed; humanity is completing it.

Having listened to what your neighbor has to say, I hope he or she will be willing to do the same. Make it clear to your friend that while you honor him for his faith, it is not the path that God has chosen for you and for your family. This is a matter of faith. You are part of a proud and ancient tradition that has brought great goodness to the world (including Christianity and Islam) and that the world would be a poorer place without the very people who carry on the traditions of Abraham and Sarah. And at the end of the day, no one can prove or disprove matters of faith. Faith is based on beliefs upon which we stake our lives and our eternal souls – and that is true both for their faith and for ours.

One of the most difficult issues facing the contemporary Jews is intermarriage. From the time of the Bible, the Jewish community has acknowledged that the best way to pass on values and beliefs is in the context of Jewish family life. As a result, Jews promoted endogamy, or in-marriage. In the book of Deuteronomy, we find warnings against intermarriage: "You shall not intermarry with them: do not give your daughters to their sons or take their daughters for your sons. For you will turn your children away from Me to worship other gods..." (Deuteronomy 7:1-3) In the fifth century, when the Ezra, the Scribe, returned from Babylonia to rebuild Jerusalem, one of his first decrees was to force Jewish men who were married to non-Jewish women to divorce their wives.

Yet the Jewish tradition is not monolithic on this topic. The Book of Ruth tells the touching story of Ruth, a Moabite woman, who marries a Jewish man and is then widowed. Ruth returns to Judea with her mother-in-law, Naomi, and eventually marries Boaz, a relative of her husband. Their great grandchild of Ruth and Boaz is none other than David, the great king of Israel, and the progenitor of the Messiah. The Messiah, then, is a descendent of an intermarried couple! Although later tradition would identify Ruth as a “righteous proselyte,” nothing is ever said about her conversion in the Bible.

We struggle with intermarriage in the contemporary world. On the one hand, Jewish children are encouraged to live in and benefit from the larger cosmopolitan world in which they live. They attend the best schools and work in a world in which they have contact with people of diverse faiths and backgrounds. On the other hand, Jewish parents want their children to carry on the ‘chain of tradition’ and to maintain Jewish homes. Many young Jews are woefully ignorant of their culture and faith, Jewish identity only becomes an issue once they meet someone and fall in love.

Conservative Judaism has struggled with the issue of intermarriage. Conservative Rabbis will not perform intermarriages or attend such ceremonies. To do so is grounds for expulsion from the Rabbinical Assembly, our rabbinic organization. Yet we have not turned a blind eye to this question, either. In recent years, the Conservative Movement has engaged in an active program of out-reach to welcome intermarried couples into Conservative synagogues. Such couples are encouraged to participate in almost every aspect of community life. Conservative synagogues and their leaders walk a narrow line by endorsing endogamy but encouraging participation of intermarried couples in Jewish life. The Conservative Movement continues to maintain the traditional standard of matrilineal descent. This means that someone is considered Jewish only if he or she has a Jewish mother or has converted according to the standards of Jewish law and tradition. I think you will find that most, if not all, Conservative rabbis are open to assisting couples in such matters.

In many congregations non-Jews are invited to attend services, participate in adult education and cultural activities and are actively welcomed to social programs in the congregation. Non-Jewish parents are honored when they participate in their child’s Jewish upbringing, even if they are not prepared to convert themselves. There are two provisos in most Conservative congregations – for a child to attend religious school, he or she must be Jewish. If the child’s mother is not Jewish, it may be necessary for the child to undergo conversion. Depending on the congregation, there may also be certain limitations about what the non-Jewish spouse can and cannot do in the context of religious services.

Changing attitudes toward intermarriage can be seen in the statement of the Joint Commission on Response to Intermarriage: "In the past, intermarriage...was viewed as an act of rebellion, a rejection of Judaism. Jews who intermarried were essentially excommunicated. But now, intermarriage is often the result of living in an open society....If our children end up marrying non-Jews, we should not reject them. We should continue to give our love and by that retain a measure of influence in their lives, jewishly and otherwise. Life consists of constant growth and our adult children may yet reach a stage when Judaism has new meaning for them. However, the marriage between a Jew and non-Jew is not a celebration for the Jewish community. We therefore reach out to the couple with the hope that the non-Jewish partner will move closer to Judaism and ultimately choose to convert. Since we know that over 70 percent of children of intermarried couples are not being raised as Jews...we want to encourage the Jewish partner to maintain his/her Jewish identity, and raise their children as Jews."

THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN ANSWERS PROVIDED HEREIN ARE THOSE OF THE INDIVIDUAL JVO PANEL MEMBERS, AND DO NOT
NECESSARILY REFLECT OR REPRESENT THE VIEWS OF THE ORTHODOX, CONSERVATIVE OR REFORM MOVEMENTS, RESPECTIVELY.